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THE 



NEW-ENGLAND TRAGEDIES. 



BY 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



I. John Endicott. 
11. Giles Corey of the Salem Farms. 




BOSTON: 
TICK NOR AND FIELDS. 

1868. 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 

HENRY \YADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



SOURCE mmm, 




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^ 2 196^ 



University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Ca, 
Cambridge. 



I. 



JOHN ENDICOTT 



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For Costume, see Drake's History of Bostoo. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



John Endicott, . . 
John Endicott, . . 
Richard Bellingham, 
John Norton, . . . 
Edward Butter, . . 
Walter Merry, . . 
Nicholas Upsall, . 
Samuel Cole, . . . 
Simon Kempthorn, ^ 
Ralph Goldsmith, \ 



Governor^ 

his son. 

Deputy Gover7tor, 

Minister of the Gospel, 

Treasurer. 

Tithi7tg-man, 

an old man. 

Landlord of the Three Mariners, 

Sea - Captains, 



Wenlock Christison, 

Edith, his daughter^ > Quakers. 

Edward Wharton, 

Assistants^ Halberdiers^ Marshal^ d^c. 

The Scene is in Boston in the year 1665. 



PROLOGUE. 



TO-NIGHT we strive to read, as we may best, 
This city, like an ancient palimpsest j 
And bring to light, upon the blotted page, 
The mournful record of an earlier age. 
That, pale and half effaced, lies hidden away 
Beneath the fresher writing of to-day. 

Rise, then, O buried city that has been ; 
Rise up, rebuilded in the painted scene. 
And let our curious eyes behold once more 
The pointed gable and the pent-house door. 
The Meeting-house with leaden-latticed paneS; 
The narrow thoroughfares, the crooked lanes ! 

Rise, too, ye shapes and shadows of the Past, 
Rise from your long-forgotten graves at last ; 
Let us behold your faces, let us hear 
The words ye uttered in those days of fear ! 
Revisit your familiar haunts again, — 
The scenes of triumph, and the scenes of pain, 
And leave the footprints of your bleeding feet 
Once more upon the pavement of the street ! 

Nor let the Historian blame the Poet here. 
If he perchance misdate the day or year, 



8 Prologue. 

And group events together, by his art, 

That in the Chronicles he far apart ; 

For as the double stars, though sundered far, 

Seem to the naked eye a single star, 

So facts of history, at a distance seen, 

Into one common point of light convene. 

" Why touch upon such themes ? " perhaps some 
friend 
May ask, incredulous ; ^^ and to what good end? 
Why drag again into the light of day 
The errors of an age long passed away ? " 
I answer : ^' For the lesson that they teach ; 
The tolerance of opinion and of speech. 
Hope, Faith, and Charity remain, — these three ; 
And greatest of them all is Charity." 

Let us remember, if these words be true, 
That unto all men Charity is due ; 
Give what we ask ; and pity, while we blame, 
Lest we become copartners in the shame. 
Lest we condemn, and yet ourselves partake. 
And persecute the dead for conscience' sake. 

Therefore it is the author seeks and strives 
To represent the dead as in their lives, 
And lets at times his characters unfold 
Their thoughts in their own language, strong and 

bold; 
He only asks of you to do the like ; 
To hear him first, and, if you will, then strike. 



JOHN ENDICOTT 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. Sunday afternoon. The interior of the Meeii7tg' 
house. On the pulpit, an hour-glass ; below, a box for 
contributions. John Norton in the pulpit. Gover- 
nor Endicott in a canopied seat, attended by four hal- 
berdiers. The congregation singing. 

THE Lord descended from above, 
And bowed the heavens high ; 
And underneath his feet he cast 
The darkness of the sky. 

On Cherubim and Seraphim 

Right royally he rode, 
And on the wings of mighty winds 

Came flying all abroad. 

NORTON (rising and turning the hour -glass on the pulpit). 

I heard a great voice from the temple saying 
Unto the Seven Angels, Go your ways ; 
Pour out the vials of the wrath of God 
Upon the earth. And the First Angel went 

I* 



lO JoJin Endicott, [Act I. 

And poured his vial on the earth ; and straight 

There fell a noisome and a grievous sore 

On them which had the birth-mark of the Beast, 

And them which worshipped and adored his image. 

On us hath fallen this grievous pestilence. 

There is a sense of horror in the air ; 

And apparitions of things horrible 

Are seen by many. From the sky above us 

The stars fall ; and beneath us the earth quakes ! 

The sound of drums at midnight in the air, 

The sound of horsemen riding to and fro, 

As if the gates of the invisible world 

Were opened, and the dead came forth to warn us, — 

All these are omens of some dire disaster 

Impending over us, and soon to fall. 

Moreover, in the language of the Prophet, 

Death is again come up into our windows, 

To cut off Httle children from without, 

And young men from the streets. And in the midst 

Of all these supernatural threats and warnings 

Doth Heresy uplift its horrid head ; 

A vision of Sin more awful and appalling 

Than any phantasm, ghost, or apparition. 

As arguing and portending some enlargement 

Of the mysterious Power of Darkness ! 

Edith, barefooted^ and clad in sackcloth, with her hair hang- 
i77g loose upon her shoulders, walks slowly tip the aisle, fol- 
lo7ved by Wharton and other Quakers, The congregation 
starts tip in confusion. 



Sc. I.] yohn Endicoit. 1 1 

EDITH {to NORTON, raising her hand). 

Peace ! 

NORTON. 

Anathema maranatha ! The Lord cometh ! 

EDITH. 

Yea, verily he cometh, and shall judge 
The shepherds of Israel, who do feed themselves, 
And leave their flocks to eat what they have trodden 
Beneath their feet. 

NORTON. 

Be silent, babbling woman ! 
St. Paul commands all women to keep silence 
Within the churches. 

EDITH. 

Yet the women prayed 
And prophesied at Corinth in his day ; 
And, among those on whom the fiery tongues 
Of Pentecost descended, some were women ! 

NORTON. 

The 'Elders of the Churches, by our law. 
Alone have power to open the doors of speech 
And silence in the Assembly. I command you ! 

EDITH. 

The law of God is greater than your laws ! 

Ye build your church with blood, your town with 

crime j 
The heads thereof give judgment for reward j 
The priests thereof teach only for their hire ; 
Your laws condemn the innocent to death ; 
And against this I bear my testimony ! 



12 yohn EndicotL [ActL 

NORTON. 

What testimony ? 

EDITH. 

That of the Holy Spirit, 
AMiich, as your Calnn says, surpasseth reason. 

NORTON. 

The laborer is worthy of his hire. 

EDITH. 

Yet our great Master did not teach for hire, 
And the Apostles without purse or scrip 
Went forth to do his work. Behold this box 
Beneath thy pulpit Is it for the poor ? 
Thou canst not answer. It is for the Priest ; 
And against this I bear my testimony. 

NORTON. 

Away v\ith all these Heretics and Quakers ! 

Quakers, forsooth ! Because a quaking fell 

On Daniel, at beholding of the Vision, 

Must ye needs shake and quake ? Because Isaiah 

Went stripped and barefoot, must ye wail and howl ? 

Must ye go stripped and naked ? must ye make 

A wailing like the dragons, and a mourning 

As of the owls ? Ye verif)^ the adage 

That Satan is God's ape ! Away with them ! 

Tumult. TTu Quakers are driven out with vioUrue, EnrrH 
fotUrwing slowly. Tlu congregation retires in confusion. 

Thus freely do the Reprobates commit 
Such measure of iniquity as fits them 



Sc. I.] yohn Endicott. 13 

For the intended measure of God's wrath, 
And even in violating God's commands 
Are they fulfilling the divine decree ! 
The will of man is but an instrument 
Disposed and predetermined to its action 
According unto the decree of God, 
Being as much subordinate thereto' 
As is the axe unto the hewer's hand ! 

He descends from the pulpit, aitdjohts GOVERNOR Endicott, 
who comes forward to meet him» 

The omens and the wonders of the time, 

Famine, and fire, and shipwreck, and disease, 

The blast of corn, the death of our young men. 

Our sufferings in all precious, pleasant things. 

Are manifestations of the wrath divine, 

Signs of God's controversy with New England. 

These emissaries of the Evil One, 

These servants and ambassadors of Satan, 

Are but commissioned executioners 

Of God's vindictive and deserved displeasure. 

We must receive them as the Roman Bishop 

Once received Attila, saying, I rejoice 

You have come safe, whom I esteem to be 

The scourge of God, sent to chastise his people. 

This very heresy, perchance, may serve 

The purposes of God to some good end. 

With you I leave it ; but do not neglect 

The holy tactics of the civil sword. 



14 John Eiidicott, [Act I. 

EXDICOTT. 

And what more can be done ? 

NORTOX. 

The hand that cut 
The Red Cross from the colors of the king 
Can cut the red heart from this heresy. 
Fear not. All blasphemies immediate 
And heresies turbulent must be suppressed 
By civil power. 

ENDICOTT. 

But in what way suppressed ? 

NORTON. 

The Book of Deuteronomy declares 
That if thy son, thy daughter, or thy wife, 
Ay, or the friend which is as thine ov\ti soul, 
Entice thee secretly, and say to thee, 
Let us ser\-e other gods, then shall thine eye 
Not pity him, but thou shalt surely kill him. 
And thine o\\ti hand shall be the first upon him 
To slay him. 

ENDICOTT. 

Four already have been slain ; 
And others banished upon pain of death. 
But they come back again to meet their doom. 
Bringing the linen for their winding-sheets. 
We must not go too far. In truth, I shrink 
From shedding of more blood. The people murmur 
At our severit}-. 



Sc. I.J yohn Endicott 1 5 

NORTON. 

Then let them murmur ! 
Truth is relentless ; justice never wavers ; 
The greatest firmness is the greatest mercy ; 
The noble order of the Magistracy 
Cometh immediately from God, and yet 
This noble order of the Magistracy 
Is by these Heretics despised and outraged. 

ENDICOTT. 

To-night they sleep in prison. If they die, 
They cannot say that we have caused their death. 
We do but guard the passage, with the sword 
Pointed towards them ; if they dash upon it, 
Their blood will be on their own heads, not ours. 

NORTON. 

Enough. I ask no more. My predecessor 
Coped only with the milder heresies 
Of Antinomians and of Anabaptists. 
He was not born to wrestle with these fiends. 
Chrysostom in his pulpit ; Augustine 
In disputation ; Timothy in his house ! 
The lantern of St. Botolph's ceased to burn 
When from the portals of that church he came 
To be a burning and a shining light 
Here in the wilderness. And, as he lay 
On his death-bed, he saw me in a vision 
Ride on a snow-white horse into this town. 
His vision was prophetic ; thus I came, 



1 6 yohn Endicott, [Act I. 

A terror to the impenitent, and Death 
On the pale horse of the Apocalypse 
To all the accursed race of Heretics ! 

\ExeunU 



SCENE II. A street. On one side, Nicholas Upsall's 
house ; on the other, Walter MY.KKY'SyWith ajlock of 
pigeons on the roof. Upsall seated in the porch of his 
house. 

UPSALL. 

day of rest ! How beautiful, how fair, 
How welcome to the weary and the old ! 
Day of the Lord ! and truce to earthly cares I 
Day of the Lord, as all our days should be ! 
Ah, why will man by his austerities 

Shut out the blessed sunshine and the light, 
And make of thee a dungeon of despair ! 

WALTER MERRY {entering and looking roimd him). 

All silent as a graveyard ! No one stirring ; 
No footfall in the street, no sound of voices ! 
By righteous punishment and perseverance, 
And perseverance in that punishment, 
At last I 've brought this contumacious town 
To strict observance of the Sabbath day. 
Those wanton gospellers, the pigeons yonder. 
Are now the only Sabbath-breakers left. 

1 cannot put them down. As if to taunt me. 



Sc. II.] yohn Endicott, 17 

They gather every Sabbath afternoon 

In noisy congregation on my roof, 

Billing and cooing. Whir ! take that, ye Quakers. 

Throws a stoite at the pigeons. Sees Upsall. 
Ah ! Master Nicholas ! 

UPSALL. 

Good afternoon, 
Dear neighbor Walter. 

MERRY. 

Master Nicholas, 
You have to-day withdrawn yourself from meeting. 

UPSALL. 

Yea, I have chosen rather to worship God 
Sitting in silence here at my own door. 

MERRY. 

Worship the Devil ! You this day have broken 
Three of our strictest laws. First, by abstaining 
From public worship. Secondly, by walking 
Profanely on the Sabbath. 

UPSALL. 

Not one step. 
I have been sitting still here, seeing the pigeons 
Feed in the street and fly about the roofs. 

MERRY. 

You have been in the street with other intent 
Than going to and from the Meeting-house. 
And, thirdly, you are harboring Quakers here. 
I am amazed ! 



1 8 John Endicott, [Act I. 

UPSALL. 

Men sometimes, it is said, 
Entertain angels unawares. 

MERRY. 

Nice angels ! 
Angels in broad-brimmed hats and russet cloaks, 
The color of the De\irs nutting-bag ! They came 
Into the Meeting-house this afternoon 
More in the shape of devils than of angels. 
The women screamed and fainted : and the boys 
Made such an uproar in the gallery 
I could not keep them quiet. 

UPSALL. 

Neighbor Walter, 
Tour persecution is of no avail. 

MERRY. 

'T is prosecution, as the Governor sa3's, 
Not persecution. 

UPSALL. 

Well, your prosecution ; 
Your hangings do no good. 

MERRY. 

The reason is. 
We do not hang enough. But, mark my words, 
We '11 scour them ; yea, I w^arrant ye, we '11 scour them ! 
And now go in and entertain your angels, 
And don't be seen here in the street again 
Till after sundow^n ! — There they are again ! 
Exit Upsall. Merry throws another stofie at the pigeonSy 
and then goes ini9 his house. 



Sc. III.] yoJm Endicott, 19 



SCENE III. A room in Upsall's house. Night. Edith, 
Wharton, a^id other Quakers seated at a table. U PS all 
seated near them. Several books on the table, 

WHARTON. 

William and Marmaduke, our martyred brothers, 
Sleep in untimely graves, if aught untimely 
Can find place in the providence of God, 
Where nothing comes too early or too late. 
I saw their noble death. They to the scaffold 
Walked hand in hand. Two hundred armed men 
And many horsemen guarded them, for fear 
Of rescue by the crowd, whose hearts were stirred. 

EDITH. 

O holy martyrs ! 

WHARTON. 

When they tried to speak, 
Their voices by the roll of drums were drowned. 
When they were dead they still looked fresh and fair, 
The terror of death was not upon their faces. 
Our sister Mary, likev/ise, the meek woman, 
Has passed through martyrdom to her reward ; 
Exclaiming, as they led her to her death, 
"These many days I Ve been in Paradise." 
And, when she died, Priest Wilson threw the hangman 
His handkerchief, to cover the pale face 
He dared not look upon. 



20 yohn Endicott, [Act I. 

EDITH. 

As persecuted, 
Yet not forsaken ; as unknown, yet known ; 
As dying, and behold we are alive ; 
As sorrowful, and yet rejoicing alway ; 
As ha\'ing nothing, yet possessing all ! 

WHARTON. 

And Leddra, too, is dead. But from his prison, 

The day before his death, he sent these words 

Unto the little flock of Christ : " Whatever 

May come upon the followers of the Light, — 

Distress, afiiiction, famine, nakedness, 

Or perils in the cit>' or the sea. 

Or persecution, or even death itself, — 

I am persuaded that God's armor of Light, 

As it is loved and lived in, will preserv'e you. 

Yea, death itself; through which you will find entrance 

Into the pleasant pastures of the fold. 

Where you shall feed forever as the herds 

That roam at large in the low valleys of Achor. 

And as the flowing of the ocean fills 

Each creek and branch thereof, and then retires, 

Leaving behind a sweet and wholesome savor ; 

So doth the virtue and the life of God 

Flow evermore into the hearts of those 

Whom he hath made partakers of his nature ; 

And, when it but withdraws itself a little, 

Leaves a sweet savor after it, that many 



Sc. III.] yoJm Endicott. 21 

Can say they are made clean by every word 
That he hath spoken to them in their silence." 

EDITH (rising, a7id breaking i7ito a kind of chant). 

Truly we do but grope here in the dark, 

Near the partition-wall of Life and Death, 

At every moment dreading or desiring 

To lay our hands upon the unseen door ! 

Let us, then, labor for an inward stillness, — 

An inward stillness and an inward healing ; 

That perfect silence where the lips and heart 

Are still, and we no longer entertain 

Our own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions, 

But God alone speaks in us, and we wait 

In singleness of heart, that we may know 

His will, and in the silence of our spirits, 

That we may do His will, and do that only ! 

A lo7ig pause, interrupted by the sound of a dritrn approachi^tg ; 
then shouts in the street, and a loud knocking at the door, 

MARSHAL. 

Within there ! Open the door ! 

MERRY. 

Will no one answer % 

MARSHAL. 

In the King's name ! Within there ! 

MERRY. 

Open the door ! 

UPS ALL [from the windozv). 

It is not barred. Come in. Nothing prevents you. 



22 yolui Eiidicott, [Act I. 

The poor man's door is ever on the latch. 
He needs no bolt nor bar to shut out thieves ; 
He fears no enemies, and has no friends 
Importunate enough to turn the key upon them ! 

Enter John Endicott, tJu Marshal, Merry, and a 
crcnud. Seeing the Quakers silent and unmovedy they 
pause, awe-struck, ExDicoTT opposite Edith. 

AL\RSHAL. 

In the King's name do I arrest j'ou all ! 
Away with them to prison. Master Upsall, 
You are again discovered harboring here 
These ranters and disturbers of the peace. 
You know the law. 

UPSALL. 

I know it, and am ready 
To suffer yet again its penalties. 

EDITH (to EXDICOTT). 

Why dost thou persecute me, Saul of Tarsus ? 



END OF ACT I. 



Sc. I.] yoh7i EndicotL 23 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. John Endicott's room. Early mornt7tg, 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

" Why dost thou persecute me, Saul of Tarsus ? " 
All night these words were ringing in mine ears ! 
A sorrowful sweet face ; a look that pierced me 
With meek reproach j a voice of resignation 
That had a life of suffering in its tone ; 
And that was all ! And yet I could not sleep, 
Or, when I slept, I dreamed that awful dream ! 
I stood beneath the elm-tree on the Common 
On which the Quakers have been hanged, aud heard 
A voice, not hers, that cried amid the darkness, 
" This is Aceldama, the field of blood ! 
I will have mercy, and not sacrifice ! '' 

Opens the window ^ and looks oict. 

The sun is up already ; and my heart 

Sickens and sinks within me when I think 

How many tragedies will be enacted 

Before his setting. x\s the earth rolls round. 

It seems to me a huge Ixion's wheel. 

Upon whose whirling spokes we are bound fast. 

And must go with it ! Ah, how bright the sun 

Strikes on the sea and on the masts of vessels, 

That are uplifted in the morning air, 

Like crosses of some peaceable crusade ! 



24 John Endicoit. [Act 1 1. 

It makes me long to sail for lands unknown. 
No matter whither ! Under me, in shadow. 
Gloomy and narrow lies the little town, 
Still sleeping, but to wake and toil awhile. 
Then sleep again. How dismal looks the prison. 
How grim and sombre in the sunless street, — 
The prison where she sleeps, or wakes and waits 
For what I dare not think of; — death, perhaps I 
A word that has been said may be unsaid : 
It is but air. But when a deed is done 
It cannot be undone, nor can our thoughts 
Reach out to all the mischiefs that may follow. 
T is time for morning prayers, I will go down. 
My father, though severe, is kind and just ; 
And when his heart is tender with devotion, — 
When from his lips have fallen the words, " For- 
give us 
As we forgive," — then will I intercede 
For these poor people, and perhaps may save them. 

\Exit. 



SCEXE IL Dock Square. On am side, the taatm of the 
Three Marifurs, In the baeignmnd, a quaint building 
•urith gables ; and, beyond it, wharves and shipping. 
Captain Kempthorx and others seated at a table before 
the door. Samuzl Cole standing near than. 

KXMPTHORX. 

Come, drink about ! Remember Parson Melham, 



Sc. II.J yohn Endicott, 2$ 

And bless the man who first invented flip ! 

I^cy drinh 
COLE. 

Pray, [Master Kempthom, where were you last night ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

On board the Swallow, Simon Kempthorn, master, 
Up for Barbadoes, and the Windward Islands. 

COLE. 

The town was in a tumult 

KKNIPTHORX. 

And for what ? 

COLE. 

Your Quakers were arrested. 

KEMPTHORX. 

How my Quakers ? 

COLE. 

Those you brought in your vessel from Barbadoes. 
They made an uproar in the Meeting-house 
Yesterday, and they 're now in prison for it 
I owe you little thanks for bringing them 
To the Three Mariners. 

KEMPTHORX. 

They have not harmed you. 
I tell you, Goodman Cole, that Quaker girl 
Is precious as a sea-bream's eye. I tell you 
It was a lucky day when first she set 
Her litde foot upon the Swallow's deck, 
Bringing good luck, fair winds, and pleasant weather. 



26 yoJm Endicott. [Act II. 

COLE. 

I am a law-abiding citizen ; 

I have a seat in the new Meeting-house, 

A cow-right on the Common ; and, besides, 

Am corporal in the Great Artiller}-. 

I rid me of the vagabonds at once. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Why should you not have Quakers at your tavern 
If you liave fiddlers ? 

COLE. 

Never ! never ! -never ! 
If you want fiddling you must go elsewhere, 
To the Green Dragon and the Admiral Vernon, 
And other such disreputable places. 
But the Three Mariners is an orderly house, 
Most orderly, quiet and respectable. 
Lord Leigh said he could be as quiet here 
As at the Governor's. And have I not 
King Charles's Twelve Good Rules, all framed and 

glazed, 
Hanging in my best parlor ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Here 's a health 
To good King Charles. Will you not drink the 

King? 
Then drink confusion to old Parson Palmer. 

COLE. 

And who is Parson Palmer .^ I don't know him. 



Sc. II.] yoJin Endicott, 27 

KEMPTHORN. 

He had his cellar underneath his pulpit, 
And so preached o'er his liquor, just as you do. 
A drum luithin. 

COLE. 

Here comes the Marshal. 

MERRY (within). 

Make room for the Marshal. 

KEMPTHORN. 

How pompous and imposing he appears ! 
His great buff doublet bellying like a mainsail, 
And all his streamers fluttering in the wind. 
What holds he in his hand ? 

COLE. 

A Proclamation. 

Enter the Marshal, luith a proclamation ; and Merry, unth 
a halberd. They are preceded by a drummer^ and fol- 
lowed by the ha7ig77ian^ with an armful of books, aitd a 
crowd of people, amo7tg whom are Upsall and John 
Endicott. A pile is ??iade of the books. 

MERRY. 

Silence, the drum ! Good citizens, attend 
To the new laws enacted by the Court. 

MARSHAL (reads). 

" Whereas a cursed sect of Heretics 
Has lately risen, commonly called Quakers, 
Who take upon themselYCS to be commissioned 
Immediately of God, and furthermore 



28 yohn E7idicott, [Act II. 

Infallibly assisted by the Spirit 

To wTite and utter blasphemous opinions, 

Despising Government and the order of God 

In Church and Commonwealth, and speaking evil 

Of Dignities, reproaching and reviling 

The Magistrates and Ministers, and seeking 

To turn the people from their faith, and thus 

Gain proselytes to their pernicious ways ; — 

This Court, considering the premises. 

And to prevent like mischief as is wrought 

By their means in our land, doth hereby order, 

That whatsoever master or commander 

Of any ship, bark, pink, or catch shall bring 

To any roadstead, harbor, creek, or cove 

Within this Jurisdiction any Quakers, 

Or other blasphemous Heretics, shall pay 

Unto the Treasurer of the Commonwealth 

One hundred pounds, and for default thereof 

Be put in prison, and continue there 

Till the said sum be satisfied and paid." 

COLE. 

Now, Simon Kempthorn, what say you to that ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

I pray you. Cole, lend me a hundred pound ! 

MARSHAL (reads). 

" If any one within this Jurisdiction 
Shall henceforth entertain, or shall conceal 
Quakers, or other blasphemous Heretics, 



Sc. II.] John Endicott, 29 

Knowing them so to be, every such person 
Shall forfeit to the country forty shilhngs 
For each hour's entertainment or concealment, 
And shall be sent to prison, as aforesaid. 
Until the forfeiture be wholly paid." 

Murmurs iii the crowd, 
KEMPTHORN. 

Now, Goodman Cole, I think your turn has come ! 

COLE. 

Knowing them so to be ! 

KEMPTHORN. 

At forty shillings 
The hour, your fine will be some forty pound ! 

COLE. 

Knowing them so to be ! That is the law. 

MARSHAL {reads). 

" And it is further ordered and enacted, 
If any Quaker or Quakers shall presume 
To come henceforth into this Jurisdiction, 
Every male Quaker for the first offence 
Shall have one ear cut off; and shall be kept 
At labor in the Workhouse, till such time 
As he be sent away at his own charge. 
And for the repetition of the offence 
Shall have his other ear cut off, and then 
Be branded in the palm of his right hand. 
And every woman Quaker shall be whipt 



30 yohn EndicotL [AcrlL 

Severely in three to\ms ; and every^ Quaker, 
Or he or she, that shall for a third time 
Herein a^n offend, shall have their tongues 
Bored through with a hot iron, and shall be 
Sentenced to Banishment on pain of Death." 

Ijmd murmurs. The voice ^Chrjstison iii the crcx^d, 

O patience of the Lord ! How long, how long, 
Ere Thou avenge the blood of Thine Elect ? 

MERRY. 

Silence, there, silence ! Do not break the peace ! 

MARSHAL {rcids). 

*• Ever}' inhabitant of this Jurisdiction 

"VMio shall defend the horrible opinions 

Of Quakers, by deming due respect 

To equals and superiors, and withdrawing 

From Church Assemblies, and thereby approving 

The abusive and destructive practices 

Of this accursed sect, in opposition 

To all the orthodox received opinions 

Of godly men, shall be forthwith committed 

Unto close prison for one month ; and then 

Refusing to retract and to reform 

The opinions as aforesaid, he shall be 

Sentenced to Banishment on pain of Death. 

By the Court Edward Rawson, Secretary." 

Now, hangman, do your dut}'. Bum those books, 

Loud tmurmurs In the crcrwd. T7u pile of books is lightaL 



Sc. II.] yohn Endicott, 3 1 

UPSALL. 

I testify against these cruel laws ! 
Forerunners are they of some judgment on us; 
And, in the love and tenderness I bear 
Unto this town and people, I beseech you, 

Magistrates, take heed, lest ye be found 
As fighters against God ! 

JOHN ENDICOTT {taking Upsall's hand). 

Upsall, I thank you 
For speaking words such as some younger man, 

1 or another, should have said before you. 
Such laws as these are cruel and oppressive ; 
A blot on this fair town, and a disgrace 

To any Christian people. 

MERRY (aside, listening behind them). 

Here 's sedition ! 
I never thought that any good would come 
Of this young popinjay, with his long hair 
And his great boots, fit only for the Russians 
Or barbarous Indians, as his father says ! 

THE VOICE. 

Woe to the bloody town ! And rightfully 
Men call it the Lost Town ! The blood of Abel 
Cries from the ground, and at the final judgment 
The Lord will say, " Cain, Cain ! where is thy 
brother ? '^ 

MERRY. 

Silence there in the crowd ! 



32 yohri Endicott. [AcrlL 

UPS A T.I. {fuid£\ 

T is Christisoo ! 

THE TOICE. 

O fooli^ people, ye that think to bum 
And to consume the truth oH God, I tell yoa 
That every flame is a loud tongue of fire 
To publish it abroad to all the world 
Louder than tongues of men ! 

KEMPTHORX (springuig to his fDd\. 

Well said, my hear^ I 
There 's a brare fellow ! There 's a man (rf'pludL ! 
A man who 's not afiraid to say his say. 
Though a irfiole town 's against him. Rain, rain, 

rain. 
Bones of St Botolj^ and put out this fire ! 



The dntm beaiu EjumU aO bmi Merkt, Kz^h th : l: v -: - 

COUE. 

And now diat matter 's ended, Goodman Cole, 
Fetch me a mug of ale, your strongest ale. 

KEMPTHORX {li/itM^ dffarm\ 

And me another mug of flip ; and put 
Two gills of brandy in it 

MERRY. 

No ; no more. 
Not a diop more, I say. You Ve had enoi^^ 



Sc. II.] yohn Endicott, 33 

KEMPTHORN. 

And who are you, sir ? 

MERRY. 

I 'm a Tithing-man, 
And Merry is my name. 

KEMPTHORN. 

A merry name ! 
I like it j and I '11 drink your merry health 
Till all is blue. 

MERRY. 

And then you will be clapped 
Into the stocks, with the red letter D 
Hung round about your neck for drunkenness. 
You 're a free-drinker, — yes, and a free-thinker ! 

KEMPTHORN. 

And you are Andrew Merry, or Merry Andrew. 

MERRY. 

My name is Walter Merry, and not Andrew. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Andrew or Walter, you 're a merry fellow ; 
I '11 swear to that. 

MERRY. 

No swearing, let me tell you. 
The other day one Shorthose had his tongue 
Put into a cleft stick for profane swearing. 

Cole brings the ale, 
2* c 



34 yoJin Endicott. [Act IL 

KEMPTHORN. 

Well, where 's my flip ? As sure as my name 's 
Kempthom — 

MERRY. 

Is your name Kempthom ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

That *s the name I go by. 

MERRY. 

AVhat, Captain Simon Kempthom of the Swallow ? 

KEMPTHORX. 

Xo other. 

MERRY (touching him an th€ shoulder). 
Then you 're wanted. I arrest you 
In the King's name. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And where 's your warrant ? 
MERRY (unfolding a paper y and reading. 

Here. 

Listen to me. " Hereby you are required, 
In the King's namie, to apprehend the body 
Of Simon Kempthom, mariner, and him 
Safely to bring before me, there to answer 
All such objections as are laid to him, 
Touching the Quakers." Signed, John Endicott 

KEMPTHORN. 

Has it the Governor's seal ? 



Sc. III.] yolm EudicotL 35 

MERRY. 

Ay, here it is. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Death's head and cross-bones. That's a pirate's 
flag! 

MERRY. 

Beware how you revile the Magistrates j 
You may be whipped for that. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Then mum 's the word. 
{Exeunt Merry and Kempthorn. 

COLE. 

There 's mischief brewing ! Sure, there 's mischief 

brewing ! 
I feel like Master Josselyn when he found 
The hornet's nest, and thought it some strange fruit, 
Until the seeds came out, and then he dropped it. 

[Exit. 

SCENE III. A room in the Governor's house. Enter Gov- 
ernor Endicott and Merry. 

ENDICOTT. 

My son, you say ? 

MERRY. 

Your Worship's eldest son. 

ENDICOTT. 

Speaking against the laws t 



36 Jolui Endicott, [Act II. 

MERRY. 

Ay, worshipful sir. 

ENDICOTT. 

And in the public market-place ? 

MERRY. 

I saw him 

With my own eyes, heard him with my own ears. 

ENDICOTT. 

Impossible ! 

MERRY. 

He stood there in the crowd 
With Nicholas Upsall, when the laws were read 
To-day against the Quakers, and I heard him 
Denounce and vilipend them as unjust, 
As cruel, wicked, and abominable. 

ENDICOTT. 

Ungrateful son ! O God ! thou layest upon me 

A burden heavier than I can bear ! 

Surely the power of Satan must be great 

Upon the earth, if even the elect 

Are thus deceived and fall away from grace ! 

MERRY. 

Worshipful sir ! I meant no harm — 

ENDICOTT. 

'T is well. 
You 've done your duty, though you \'e done it 

roughly, 
And ever}^ word you \^e uttered since you came 
Has stabbed me to the heart ! 



Sc. III.] John Endicott. 37 

MERRY. 

I do beseech 
Your Worship's pardon ! 

ENDICOTT. 

He whom I have nurtured 
And brought up in the reverence of the Lord ! 
The child of all my hopes and my affections ! 
He upon whom I leaned as a sure staff 
For my old age ! It is God's chastisement 
For leaning upon any arm but His ! 

MERRY. 

Your Worship ! — 

ENDICOTT. 

And this comes from holding parley 
With the delusions and deceits of Satan. 
At once, forever, must they be crushed out, 
Or all the land will reek wdth heresy ! 
Pray, have you any children ? 

MERRY. 

No, not any. 

ENDICOTT. 

Thank God for that. He has delivered you 
From a great care. Enough ; my private griefs 
Too long have kept me from the public service. 

Exit Merry. Endicott seats himself at the table and 
arranges his papers. 

The hour has come ; and I am eager now 

To sit in judgment on these Heretics. {A knock.) 

Come in. Who is it ? {Not looking up.) 



38 John Eiidicott. [Act II. 

JOHN EXDICOTT. 

It is I. 
E XD I C OTT [restraining himself) . 

Sit down ! 

JOHN EXDICOTT {siHmg doTun). 

I come to intercede for these poor people 
"Who are in prison, and await their trial. 

ENDICOTT. 

It is of them I wish to speak with yoa 

I have been angry with you, but 't is passed. 

For when I hear your footsteps come or go, 

See in your features your dead mother's face, 

And in your voice detect some tone of hers. 

All anger vanishes, and I remember 

The days that are no more, and come no more, 

"VMien as a child you sat upon my knee, 

And prattled of your planhings, and the games 

You played among the pear-trees in the orchard ! 

JOHN EXDICOTT. 

O, let the memor)' of my noble mother 

Plead with you to be mild and merciful ! 

For mercy more becomes a Magistrate 

Than the \-indictive wrath which men call justice ! 

EXDICOTT. 

The sin of heresy is a deadly sin. 

T is like the falling of the snow, whose crystals 



Sc. III.] yoht Endicott, 39 

The traveller plays with, thoughtless of his danger. 
Until he sees the air so full of light 
That it is dark ; and blindly staggering onward, 
Lost, and bewildered, he sits down to rest,; 
There falls a pleasant drowsiness upon him, 
And what he thinks is sleep, alas ! is death. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

And yet who is there that has never doubted ? 
And doubting and believing, has not said, 
" Lord, I believe ; help thou my unbelief" ? 

ENDICOTT. 

In the same way we trifle with our doubts, 
Whose shining shapes are like the stars descending ; 
Until at last, bewildered and dismayed, 
Blinded by that which seemed to give us light. 
We sink to sleep, and find that it is death, [Rising) 
Death to the soul through all eternity ! 
Alas that I should see you growing up 
To man's estate, and in the admonition 
And nurture of the Law, to find you now 
Pleading for Heretics ! 

JOHN ENDICOTT [rising]. 

In the sight of God, 
Perhaps all men are Heretics. Who dares 
To say that he alone has found the truth ? 
We cannot always feel and think and act 
As those who go before us. Had you done so, 
You would not now be here. 



40 JoJin Endicott. [Act II. 

EXDICOTT. 

Have you forgotten 
The doom of Heretics, and the fate of those 
Who aid and comfort them ? Have you forgotten 
That in the market-place this very day 
You trampled on the laws ? What right have you, 
An inexperienced and untravelled youth. 
To sit in judgment here upon the acts 
Of older men and wiser than yourself 
Thus stirring up sedition in the streets, 
And making me a byword and a jest ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Words of an inexperienced youth like me 
Were powerless if the acts of older men 
Went not before them. 'T is these laws themselves 
Stir up sedition, not my judgment of them. 

ENDICOTT. 

Take heed, lest I be called, as Brutus was. 
To be the judge of my own son ! Begone ! 
WTien you are tired of feeding upon husks, 
Return again to duty and submission. 

But not till then. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

I hear and I obey ! 

\Exit. 
ENDICOTT. 

O happy, happy they who have no children ! 

He 's gone ! I hear the hall door shut behind him. 

It sends a dismal echo through my heart, 



Sc. III.] yolm Endicott. 41 

As if forever it had closed between us, 

And I should look upon his face no more ! 

O, this will drag me down into my grave, — 

To that eternal resting-place wherein 

Man lieth down, and riseth not again ! 

Till the heavens be no more he shall not wake, 

Nor be roused from his sleep ; for Thou dost 

change 

His countenance, and sendest him away ! 

\Exiu 



END OF ACT II. 



42 yohii Endicott. [Act III. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. The Court of Assista7its. Endicott, Belling- 
HAM, Atherton, a7id other 7?iagistrates. Kempthorn, 
INIerry, and constables. Afterwards WHARTON, Edith, 
and Christison. 

ENDICOTT. 

Call Captain Simon Kempthorn. 

MERRY. 

Simon Kempthorn. 
Come to the bar ! 

Kempthorn comes forward, 
ENDICOTT. 

You are accused of bringing 
Into this Jurisdiction, from Barbadoes, 
Some persons of that sort and sect of people 
Known by the name of Quakers, and maintaining 
Most dangerous and heretical opinions ; 
Purposely coming here to propagate 
Their heresies and errors ; bringing with them 
And spreading sundr}^ books here, which contain 
Their doctrines most corrupt and blasphemous, 
And contrary to the truth professed among us. 
What say you to this charge ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

I do acknowledge, 
Among the passengers on board the Swallow 



Sc. I.] yohn Endicott, 43 

Were certain persons saying Thee and Thou. 
They seemed a harmless people, mostways silent, 
Particularly when they said their prayers. 

ENDICOTT. 

Harmless and silent as the pestilence ! 

You 'd better have brought the fever or the plague 

Among us in your ship ! Therefore, this Court, 

For preservation of the Peace and Truth, 

Hereby commands you speedily to transport, 

Or cause to be transported speedily, 

The aforesaid persons hence unto Barbadoes, 

From whence they came ; you paying all the charges 

Of their imprisonment. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Worshipful sir. 
No ship e'er prospered that has carried Quakers 
Against their will ! I knew a vessel once — 

ENDICOTT. 

And for the more effectual performance 
Hereof you are to give security 
In bonds amounting to one hundred pounds. 
On your refusal, you will be committed 
To prison till you do it. 

KEMPTHORN. 

But you see 
I cannot do it. The law, sir, of Barbadoes 
Forbids the landing Quakers on the island. 



44 JoJm Endicott, [Act III. 

ENDICOTT. 

Then you will be committed. Who comes next ? 

MERRY. 

There is another charge against the Captain. 

ENDICOTT. 

What is it ? 

MERRY. 

Profane swearing, please your Worship. 
He cursed and swore from Dock Square to the 
Court-house. 

ENDICOTT. 

Then let him stand in the pillory for one hour. 

\Exit Kempthorn with constable. 
Who 's next ? 

MERRY. 

The Quakers. 

ENDICOTT. 

Call them. 

MERRY. 

Edward "Wharton, 
Come to the bar ! 

WHARTON. 

Yea, even to the bench. 

ENDICOTT. 

Take off your hat. 

WHARTON. 

My hat ofifendeth not. 
If it ofifendeth any, let him take it ; 
For I shall not resist. 



Sc. I.] yohii Endicott, 45 

ENDICOTT. 

Take off his hat. 
Let him be fined ten shillings for contempt. 

Merry takes off Wharton's hat, 
WHARTON. 

What evil have I done ? 

ENDICOTT. 

Your hair 's too long ; 
And in not putting off your hat to us 
You Ve disobeyed and broken that commandment 
Which sayeth " Honor thy father and thy mother." 

WHARTON. 

John Endicott, thou art become too proud ; 

And lovest him who putteth off the hat, 

And honoreth thee by bowing of the body, 

And sayeth " Worshipful sir ! " 'T is time for thee 

To give such follies over, for thou mayest 

Be drawing very near unto thy grave. 

ENDICOTT. 

Now, sirrah, leave your canting. Take the oath. 

WHARTON. 

Nay, sirrah me no sirrahs ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Will you swear ? 

WHARTON. 

Nay, I will not. 



46 yoJm Eiidicott. [Act III. 

EXDICOTT. 

You made a great disturbance 
And uproar yesterday in the Meeting-house, 
Having your hat on. 

WHARTOX. 

I made no disturbance ; 
For peacefully I stood, like other people. 
I spake no words ; moved against none my hand ; 
But by the hair they haled me out, and dashed 
Then: books into my face. 

ENDICOTT. 

You, Edward AMiarton, 
On pain of death, depart this Jurisdiction 
Within ten davs. Such is vour sentence. Go. 

WHARTOX. 

John Endicott, it had been well for th^e 
If this day's doings thou hadst left undone. 
But, banish me as far as thou hast power, 
Beyond the guard and presence of my God 
Thou canst not banish me ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Depart the Court ; 

We have no time to listen to your babble. 

A\Tio 's next ? 

\Exit Wharton. 

MERRY. 

This woman, for the same offence. 
Edith <:om€s for^vard. 



Sc. I.] yohn Endicott, 47 

ENDICOTT. 

What is your name ? 

EDITH. 

'T is to the world unknown, 
But written in the Book of Life. 

ENDICOTT. 

Take heed 
It be not written in the Book of Death I 
What is it ? 

EDITH. 

Edith Christison. 
ENDICOTT [with eagerness). 

The daughter 
Of Wenlock Christison ? 

EDITH. 

I am his daughter. 

ENDICOTT. 

Your father hath given us trouble many times. 
A bold man and a violent, who sets 
At naught the authority of our Church and State, 
And is in banishment on pain of death. 
Where are you living ? 

EDITH. 

In the Lord. 

ENDICOTT. 

Make answer 
Without evasion. Where ? 



48 yoJm Endicott. [Act III. 



EDITH. 

My outward being 



Is in Barbadoes. 



ENDICOTT. 

Then why come you here ? 

EDITH. 

I come upon an errand of the Lord. 

ENDICOTT. 

T is not the business of the Lord you 're doing j 
It is the Devil's. Will you take the oath ? 
Give her the Book. 

Merry offers the Booh 

EDITH. 

You offer me this Book 
To swear on ; and it saith, " Swear not at all, 
Neither by heaven, because it is God's Throne, 
Nor by the earth, because it is his footstool ! " 
I dare not swear. 

ENDICOTT. 

You dare not ? Yet you Quakers 
Deny this Book of Holy Writ, the Bible, 
To be the Word of God. 

EDITH (reverentially), 

Christ is the Word, 
The everlasting oath of God. I dare not 

ENDICOTT. 

You own yourself a Quaker, — do you not ? 



Sc. I.] yohn Endicott, 49 

EDITH. 

I own that in derision and reproach 
I am so called. 

ENDICOTT. 

Then you deny the Scripture 
To be the rule of life. 

EDITH. 

Yea, I believe 
The Inner Light, and not the Written Word, 
To be the rule of life. 

ENDICOTT. 

And you deny 
That the Lord's Day is holy. 

EDITH. 

Every day 
Is the Lord's Day. It runs through all our lives, 
As through the pages of the Holy Bible 
" Thus saith the Lord." 

ENDICOTT. 

You are accused of making 
An horrible disturbance, and affrighting 
The people in the Meeting-house on Sunday. 
What answer make you ? 

EDITH. 

I do not deny 
That I was present in your Steeple-house 
On the First Day ; but I made no disturbance. 
3 ^ 



50 yohn Eiidicott, [Act III. 

ENDICOTT. 

^\Tiy came you there ? 

EDITH. 

Because the Lord commanded. 
His word was in my heart, a burning fire 
Shut up within me and consuming me, 
And I was very weary with forbearing ; 
I could not stay. 

ENDICOTT. 

'T was not the Lord that sent you ; 
As an incarnate devil did you come ! 

EDITH. 

On the First Day, when, seated in my chamber, 
I heard the bells toll, calling you together. 
The sound struck at my life, as once at his. 
The holy man, our Founder, when he heard 
The far-®ff bells toll in the Vale of Beavor. 
It sounded like a market bell to call 
The folk together, that the Priest might set 
His wares to sale. And the Lord said within me, 
" Thou must go cry aloud against that Idol, 
And all the worshippers thereof" I went 
Barefooted, clad in sackcloth, and I stood 
And listened at the threshold ; and I heard 
The praying and the singing and the preaching, 
Which were but outward forms, and without power. 
Then rose a cry within me, and my heart 
Was filled with admonitions and reproofs. 
Remembering how the Prophets and Apostles 



Sc. I.] yolm Endicott. 5 r 

Denounced the covetous hirelings and diviners, 
I entered in, and spake the words the Lord 
Commanded me to speak. I could no less. 

ENDICOTT. 

Are you a Prophetess ? 

EDITH. 

Is it not written, 
" Upon my handmaidens will I pour out 
My spirit, and they shall prophesy " } 

ENDICOTT. 

Enough ; 
For out of your own mouth are you condemned ! 
Need we hear further ? 

THE JUDGES. 

We are satisfied. 

ENDICOTT. 

It is sufficient Edith Christison, 
The sentence of the Court is, that you be 
Scourged in three towns, with forty stripes save one, 
Then banished upon pain of death ! 

EDITH. 

Your sentence 
Is truly no more terrible to me 
Than had you blown a feather into the air. 
And, as it fell upon me, you had said, 
'^ Take heed it hurt thee not ! " God's will be done ! 

WENLOCK CHRISTISON {tmseen in the crowd). 

Woe to the city of blood 1 The stone shall cry 



52 Jolin Eiidicott. [Act III. 

Out of the wall ; the beam from out the timber 
Shall answer it ! Woe unto him that buildeth 
A town with blood, and stablisheth a city 
By his iniquity ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Who is it makes 
Such outcry here ? 

CHRISTISON (cofnijtgfonuard). 

I, Wenlock Christison ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Banished on pain of death, why come you here ? 

CHRISTISON. 

I come to warn you that you shed no more 
The blood of innocent men 1 It cries aloud 
For vengeance to the Lord ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Your life is forfeit 
Unto the law ; and you shall surely die, 
And shall not live. 

CHRISTISON. 

Like unto Eleazer, 
Maintaining the excellence of ancient years 
And the honor of his gray head, I stand before you ; 
Like him disdaining all hypocrisy, 
Lest, through desire to live a little longer, 
I get a stain to my old age and name ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Being in banishment, on pain of death, 
You come now in among us in rebellion. 



Sc. I.] yohn Endicott, 53 

CHRISTISON. 

I come not in among you in rebellion, 
But in obedience to the Lord of Heaven. 
Not in contempt to any Magistrate, 
But only in the love I bear your souls, 
As ye shall know hereafter, when all men 
Give an account of deeds done in the body ! 
God's righteous judgments ye cannot escape. 

ONE OF THE JUDGES. 

Those who have gone before you said the same, 
And yet no judgment of the Lord hath fallen 
Upon us. 

CHRISTISON. 

He but waiteth till the measure 
Of your iniquities shall be filled up, 
And ye have run your race. Then will his wrath 
Descend upon you to the uttermost ! 
For thy part, Humphrey Atherton, it hangs 
Over thy head already. It shall come 
Suddenly, as a thief doth in the night. 
And in the hour when least thou thinkest of it ! 

ENDICOTT. 

We have a law, and by that law you die. 

CHRISTISON. 

I, a free man of England and freeborn. 
Appeal unto the laws of mine own nation ! 

ENDICOTT. 

There 's no appeal to England from this Court ! 



54 yohn Endicoti. [Act ILL 

WTiat ! do you think our statutes are but paper ? 
Are but dead leaves that rusde m the wind ? 
Or litter to be trampled underfoot ? 
What say ye. Judges of the Court, — what say ye ? 
Shall this man suffer death ? Speak your opinions. 

OXE OF THE JUDGES. 

I am a mortal man, and die I must. 

And that erelong ; and I r:" ?*: t!ien appear 

Before the awful judgmen: ::' Christ, 

To give account of deedi r ^ b>dy. 

My greatest glory on thar ^ 

That I have given my vote against : .. 

CHRisnsox. 

I^ Thomas Danforth, thou hast nothing more 
To glory in upon that dreadful day 
Than blood of innocent people, then thy glory 
Will be turned into shame ! The Lord hadi said it ! 

AXOTHER JUDGE. 

I cannot give consent, while other men 
Wlio have been banished upon pain of death 
Are now in their own houses here among us. 

ENDICOTT. 

Ye that will not consent, make record of it. 
I thank my God diat I am not afraid 
To give my judgment Wenlock Christison, 
You must be taken back from hence to prison. 
Thence to the place of pubUc execution. 



Sell.] yo]m Endicott, 55 

There to be hanged till you be dead — dead — 
dead ! 

CHRISTISON. 

If ye have power to take my life from me, — 

Which I do question, — God hath power to raise 

The principle of life in other men, 

And send them here among you. There shall be 

No peace unto the wicked, saith my God. 

Listen, ye Magistrates, for the Lord hath said it ! 

The day ye put his servitors to death. 

That day the Day of your own Visitation, 

The Day of Wrath, shall pass above your heads, 

And ye shall be accursed forevermore ! 

( To Edith, embracing her.) 

Cheer up, dear heart ! they have not power to 
harm us. 

[Exetmt Christison and Edith guarded. The Scene closes. 



SCENE II. A Street. ^5"/^/^;^ John Endicott^/^^Upsall. 
JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Scourged in three towns ! and yet the busy people 

Go up and down the streets on their affairs 

Of business or of pleasure, as if nothing 

Had happened to disturb them or their thoughts ! 

When bloody tragedies like this are acted 



56 yoJui Endicott, [Act III. 

The pulses of a nation should stand still ; 

The town should be in mourning, and the people 

Speak only in low whispers to each other. 

UPSALL. 

I know this people ; and that underneath 
A cold outside there burns a secret fire 
That will find vent, and will not be put out, 
Till every remnant of these barbarous laws 
Shall be to ashes burned, and blown away. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Scourged in three towns ! It is incredible 
Such things can be ! I feel the blood within me 
Fast mounting in rebellion, since in vain 
Have I implored compassion of my father ! 

UPSALL. 

You know your father only as a father ; 

I know him better as a Magistrate. 

He is a man both loving and severe ; 

A tender heart ; a will inflexible. 

None ever loved him more than I have loved him. 

He is an upright man and a just man 

In all things save the treatment of the Quakers. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Yet I have found him cruel and unjust 
Even as a father. He has driven me forth 
Into the street ; has shut his door upon me, 



Sc. III.] yohn E^idicott. 57 

With words of bitterness. I am as homeless 
As these poor Quakers are. 

UPSALL. 

Then come with me. 
You shall be welcome for your father's sake, 
And the old friendship that has been between us. 
He will relent erelong. A father's anger 
Is like a sword without a handle, piercing 
Both ways alike, and wounding him that wields it 
No less than him that it is pointed at. 

{Exeunt. 



SCENE III. The prison. Night. EDITH reading the 
Bible by a lamp. 

EDITH. 

" Blessed are ye when men shall persecute you, 
And shall revile you, and shall say against you 
All manner of evil falsely for my sake I 
Rejoice, and be exceeding glad, for great 
Is your reward in heaven. For so the prophets, 
Which were before you, have been persecuted." 
Enter John Endicott. 
JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Edith ! 

EDITH. 

Who is it speaketh ? 
3* 



58 yohn Endicott, [Act III. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Saul of Tarsus ; 
As thou didst call me once. 

EDITH {coming forward). 

Yea, I remember. 
Thou art the Governor's son. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

I am ashamed 
Thou shouldst remember me. 

EDITH. 

Why comest thou 
Into this dark guest-chamber in the night ? 
What seekest thou ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Forgiveness ! 

EDITH. 

I forgive 
All who have injured me. AVhat hast thou done ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

I have betrayed thee, thinking that in this 
I did God servdce. Now, in deep contrition, 
I come to rescue thee. 

EDITH. 

From w^hat ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

From prison. 

EDITH. 

I am safe here within these gloomy walls. 



Sc. III.] yoJin Endicott, 59 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

From scourging in the streets, and in three to^\Tls ! 

EDITH. 

Remembering who was scourged for me, I shrink not 
Nor shudder at the forty stripes save one. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Perhaps from death itself ! 

EDITH. 

I fear not death, 
Knowing who died for me. 

JOHN ENDICOTT [aside). 

Sure some divine 
Ambassador is speaking through those Hps 
And looking through those eyes ! I cannot answer ! 

EDITH. 

If all these prison doors stood opened wide 
I would not cross the threshold, — not one step. 
There are invisible bars I cannot break ; 
There are invisible doors that shut me in, 
'And keep me ever steadfast to my purpose. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Thou hast the patience and the faith of Saints ! 

EDITH. 

Thy Priest hath been \\ath me this day to save me, 
Not only from the death that comes to all. 
But from the second death ! 



Co JoJlu Eiidicott, [Act III. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

The Pharisee ! 
My heart revolts against him and his creed ! 
Alas ! the coat that was without a seam 
Is rent asunder by contending sects ; 
Each bears away a portion of the garment, 
Blindly believing that he has the whole ! 

EDITH. 

When Death, the Healer, shall have touched our eyes 

With moist clay of the grave, then shall we see 

The truth as w^e have never yet beheld it. 

But he that overcometh shall not be 

Hurt of the second death. Has he forgotten 

The many mansions in our Father's house ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

There is no pity in his iron heart ! 

The hands that now bear stamped upon their palms 

The burning sign of Heresy, hereafter 

Shall be uplifted against such accusers, 

And then the imprinted letter and its meaning 

Will not be Heresy, but Holiness ! 

EDITH. 

Remember, thou condemnest thine own father ! 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

I have no father ! He has cast me off. 

I am as homeless as the wind that moans 

And wanders through the streets. O, come with me ! 



Sc. III.] John Endicott. 6i 

Do not delay. Thy God shall be my God, 
And where thou goest I will go. 

EDITH. 

I cannot. 
Yet will I not deny it, nor conceal it ; 
From the first moment I beheld thy face 
I' felt a tenderness in my soul towards thee. 
My mind has since been inward to the Lord, 
Waiting his word. It has not yet been spoken. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

I cannot wait. Trust me. O, come with me ! 

EDITH. 

In the next room, my father, an old man, 
Sitteth imprisoned and condemned to death, 
Willing to prove his faith by martyrdom ; 
And thinkest thou his daughter would do less ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

O, life is sweet, and death is terrible ! 

EDITH. 

I have too long walked hand in hand with death 
To shudder at that pale familiar face. 
But leave me now. I wish to be alone. 

. JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Not yet. O, let me stay. 

EDITH. 

Urge me no more. 



62 John EjidicotL [Act III. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Alas 1 good night. I will not say good by ! 

EDITH. 

Put tliis temptation underneath thy feet 

To him that overcometh shall be given 

The white stone with the new name \\Titten on it, 

That no man knows save him that doth receive it 

And I wall give thee a new name, and call thee 

Paul of Damascus and not Saul of Tarsus. 

\Exit Endicott. Edith sits down again to read th^ Bible, 



END OF ACT III. 



Sc. I.] Jolin Endicott. 63 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. King Street, in front of the town-house. Kemp- 
thorn in the pillory. Merry, and a c7'owd of lookers-on. 

KEMPTHORN (sings). 

The world is full of care, 

Much like unto a bubble ; 
Women and care, and care and women, 

And women and care and trouble. 

Good Master Merry, may I say confound ? 

MERRY. 

Ay, that you may. 

KEMPTHORN. 

• Well, then, with your permission, 
Confound the Pillory ] 

MERRY. 

That 's the very thing 
The joiner said who made the Shrewsbury stocks. 
He said, confound the stocks, because they put him 
Into his own. He was the first man in them. 

KEMPTHORN. 

For swearing, was it ? 

MERRY. 

No, it was for charging j 
He charged the town too much ; and so the town, 
To make things square, set him in his own stocks, 



64 yoJin Eudicott, [Act IV. 

And fined him five pound sterling, — just enough 
To settle his own bill. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And served him right ; 
But, Master Merry, is it not eight bells 1 

MERRY. 

Not quite. 

KEMPTHORN. 

For, do you see 1 I 'm getting tired 
Of being perched aloft here in this cro' nest 
Like the first mate of a whaler, or a Middy 
Mast-headed, looking out for land ! Sail ho ! 
Here comes a hea\y-laden merchantman 
With the lee clews eased off, and running fi-ee 
Before the wind. A solid man of Boston. 
A comfortable man, wdth dividends, 
And the first salmon, and the first green peas. 

A gentleman passes. 

He does not even turn his head to look. 

He 's gone without a word. Here comes another, 

A different kind of craft on a taut bowdine, — 

Deacon Giles Firmin the apothecary, 

A pious and a ponderous citizen, 

Looking as rubicund and round and splendid 

As the great bottle in his own shop window^ ! 

Deacox Firmin passes. 

x\nd here 's my host of the Three Mariners, 



Sc. I.] yohn Endicott, 65 

My creditor and trusty taverner, 

My corporal in the Great Artillery ! 

He 's not a man to pass me without speaking. 

Cole looks away and passes. 

Don't yaw so ; keep your luff, old hypocrite ! 

Respectable, ah yes, respectable, 

You, with your seat in the new Meeting-house, 

Your cow-right on the Common ! But who 's this ? 

I did not know the Mary Ann was in ! 

And yet this is my old friend, Captain Goldsmith, 

As sure as I stand in the bilboes here. 

Why, Ralph, my boy ! 

E7tter Ralph Goldsmith. 
GOLDSMITH. 

"Why, Simon, is it you ? 
Set in the bilboes ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Chock-a-block, you see, 
And without chafing-gear. 

GOLDSMITH. 

And what 's it for ? 

KEMPTHORX. 

Ask that starbowline with the boat-hook there. 
That handsome man. 

MERRY [bowiiig). 

For swearing. 

E 



66 yohn EndicotL [Act IV. 

KEMPTHORN. 

In this town 
They put sea-captains in the stocks for swearing, 
And Quakers for not swearing. So look oat 

GOLDSMirH- 

I pray you set him free ; he meant.no harm ; 
^T is an old habit he picked up afloat 

MUIRY. 

Well, as your time is out, you may come down. 
The law allows you now to go at large 
Like Elder Oliver's horse upon the Common- 

KEMPTHORN. 

r '?rir a hand ! Let go and hauL 






Kempthobjs ames forsDttrdy shaktMg Gouo. 

Give me your han^. ^^.^^x. Ah, how good it feels ! 
The hand of an old friend. 

GOLDSMITH. 

God bless you, Simon ! 

KililPTHORX. 

Now let us make a straight wake for the tavern 
Of the Three Mariners, Samuel Cole commander ; 
Where we can take our ease, and see the shipping. 
And talk about old times. 

GOLDSMITH. 

First I most pay 



Sc. I.J yohn Endicott, 67 

My duty to the Governor, and take him 
His letters and despatches. Come with me. 

KEMPTHORN. 

I 'd rather not. I saw him yesterday. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Then wait for me at the Three Nuns and Comb. 

KEMPTHORN. 

I thank you. That 's too near to the town pump. 
I will go with you to the Governor's, 
And wait outside there, sailing off and on ; 
If I am wanted, you can hoist a signal. 

MERRY. 

Shall I go with you and point out the way ? 

GOLDSMITH. 

O no, I thank you. I am not a stranger 
Here in your crooked little town. 

MERRY. 

How now, sir ? 
Do you abuse our town ? 

[Exit. 
GOLDSMITH. 

O, no offence. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Ralph, I am under bonds for a hundred pound. 

GOLDSMITH. 

Hard lines. What for ? 



68 John Endicott, [Act IV. 

KEMPTHORN. 

To take some Quakers back 
I brought here from Barbadoes in the Swallow. 
And how" to do it I don't clearly see, 
For one of them is banished, and another 
Is sentenced to be hanged ! What shall I do ? 

GOLDSMITH. 

Just slip your hawser on some cloudy night ; 
Sheer off, and pay it with the topsail, Simon ! 

\Exeiint, 



SCENE II. Street in front of the prison. In the background 
a gateway and several flights of steps leading up terraces 
to the Governor's house. A pump on one side of th^ 
street. John Endicott, Merry, Ups.\ll, atid others, 
A drum beats, 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

O shame, shame, shame ! 

MERRY. 

Yes, it would be a shame 
But for the damnable sin of Heresy ! 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

A woman scourged and dragged about our streets ! 

MERRY. 

Well, Roxbur}' and Dorchester must take 

Their share of shame. She will be whipped in each ! 



Sc. II.] yolin Endicott, 69 

Three towns, and Forty Stripes save one ; that makes 
Thirteen in each. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

And are we Jews or Christians ? 
See where she comes, amid a gaping crowd ! 
And she a child. O, pitiful ! pitiful ! 
There 's blood upon her clothes, her hands, her feet ! 

Enter Marshal and a drummer^ Edith, stripped to the waist, 
followed by the hangman with a scourge, and a 7ioisy crowd. 

EDITH. 

Here let me rest one moment. I am tired. 
Will some one give me water ? 

MERRY. 

At his peril. 

UPSALL. 

Alas ! that I should live to see this day ! 

A WOMAN. 

Did I forsake my father and my mother 
And come here to New England to see this? 

EDITH. 

I am athirst. Will no one give me water ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT 

{making his way through the crowd with water). 
In the Lord's name ! 

EDITH {drinkijig). 

In his name I receive it ! 
Sweet as the water of Samaria's well 



JO yohji EfidicotL [Acr IV. 

This water tastes. I thank thee. Is it thou ? 
I was afraid thou hadst deserted me. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Never wall I desert thee, nor deny thee. 
Be comforted. 

^lERRY. 

O Master Endicott, 
Be careful what you say. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Peace, idle babbler ! 

MERRY. 

You '11 rue these words ! 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Art thou not better now 1 

EDITH. 

They 've struck me as with roses. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Ah, these wounds ! 
These bloody garments ! 

EDITH. 

It is granted me 
To seal my testimony with my blood. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

O blood-red seal of man's vindictive wrath ! 

roses of the garden of the Lord ! 
I, of the household of Iscariot, 

1 have betrayed in thee my Lord and Master ! 



Sell.] yohn Endicott, 71 

Wenlock Christison appears above , at the window of the 
prison, stretchi7ig out his hands through the bars, 

CHRISTISON. 

Be of good courage, O my child ! my child ! 
Blessed art thou when men shall persecute thee ! 
Fear not their faces, saith the Lord, fear not, 
For I am with thee to deliver thee. 

A CITIZEN. 

Who is it crying from the prison yonder ! 

MERRY. 

It is old Wenlock Christison. 

CHRISTISON. 

Remember 
Him who was scourged, and mocked, and crucified ! 
I see his messengers attending thee. 
Be steadfast, O, be steadfast to the end ! 

EDITH {with exultation). 

I cannot reach thee with these arms, O father ! 
But closely in my soul do I embrace thee 
And hold thee. In thy dungeon and thy death 
I will be with thee, and will comfort thee ! 

MARSHAL. 

Come, put an end to this. Let the drum beat. 

The drum beats. Exeunt all but John Endicott, Upsall, 
a7id Merry. 

CHRISTISON. 

Dear child, farewell ! Never shall I behold 



T2 John Endicott, [Act iv. 

Thy face again with these bleared eyes of flesh ; 

And never wast thou fairer, loveher, dearer 

Than now, when scourged and bleeding, and insulted 

For the truth's sake. O pitiless, pitiless town ! 

The wrath of God hangs over thee ; and the day 

Is near at hand when thou shalt be abandoned 

To desolation and the breeding of netdes. 

The bittern and the cormorant shall lodge 

Upon thine upper lintels, and their voice 

Sing in thy windows. Yea, thus saith the Lord ! 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Awake ! awake ! ye sleepers, ere too late. 
And wipe these bloody statutes from your books ! 

\Exit. 
MERRY. 

Take heed ; the walls have ears ! 

UPSALL. 

At last, the heart 
Of every honest nian must speak or break ! 
Enter Governor Endicott with his halberdiers, 
ENDICOTT. 

What is this stir and tumult in the street ? 

MERRY. 

Worshipful sir, the whipping of a girl. 
And her old father howling from the prison. 

ENDICOTT {to his halberdiers). 

Go on. 



Sell.] yohn Eiidicoit, "ji 

CHRISTISON. 

Antiochus ! Antiochus ! 
O thou that slayest the Maccabees ! The Lord 
Shall smite thee with incurable disease, 
And no man shall endure to carry thee ! 

MERRY. 

Peace, old blasphemer ! 

CHRISTISON. 

I both feel and see 
The presence and the waft of death go forth 
Against thee, and already thou dost look 
Like one that 's dead ! 

MERRY {pointing). 

And there is your own son, 

Worshipful sir, abetting the sedition. 

ENDICOTT. 

Arrest him. Do not spare him. . 

MERRY [aside). 

His own child ! 
There is some special providence takes care 
That none shall be too happy in this world ! 
His own first-born ! 

ENDICOTT. 

O Absalom, my son ! 

[Exeunt ; the Governor ivith his halberdiers ascending the 
steps of his house. 



74 yolm Endicott, [Act IV. 



SCENE III. The Gauerjior's private room. Papers up07t 
the table. Endicott and Bellingham. 

EXDICOTT. 

There is a ship from England has come in, 
Bringing despatches and much news from home. 
His Majesty was at the Abbey crowned ; 
And when the coronation was complete 
There passed a mighty tempest o'er the cit}^, 
Portentous with great thunderings and lightnings. 

BELLINGHAM. 

After his father's, if I well remember. 

There was an earthquake, that foreboded evil. 

ENDICOTT. 

Ten of the Regicides have been put to death ! 
The bodies of Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw 
Have been dragged from their graves, and publicly 
Hanged in their shrouds at Tyburn. 

BELLINGHAM. 

Horrible ! 

ENDICOTT. 

Thus the old tyranny revives again ! 
Its arm is long enough to reach us here, 
As you will see. For, more insulting still 
Than flaunting in our faces dead men's shrouds, 
Here is the King's Mandamus, taking from us. 
From this day forth, all power to punish Quakers. 



Sc. III.] John Endicoit, 75 

BELLINGHAM. 

That takes from us all power ; we are but puppets, 
And can no longer execute our laws. 

ENDICOTT. 

His Majesty begins with pleasant words, 
" Trusty and well-beloved, we greet you well " ; 
Then with a ruthless hand he strips from me 
All that which makes me what I am ; as if 
From some old general in the field, grown gray 
In service, scarred with many wounds. 
Just at the hour of victory, he should strip 
His badge of office and his well-gained honors. 
And thrust him -back into the ranks again. 

Opens the Mandamus, and hands it to Bellingham ; and, 
while he is reading, Endicott walks up and down the 
room. 

Here read it for yourself; you see his words 
Are pleasant words — considerate — not reproach- 
ful- 
Nothing could be more gentle — or more royal ; 
But then the meaning underneath the words, 
Mark that. He says all people known as Quakers 
Among us, now condemned to suffer death 
Or any corporal punishment whatever. 
Who are imprisoned, or may be obnoxious 
To the like condemnation, shall be sent 
Forthwith to England, to be dealt with there 
In such wise as shall be agreeable 



76 yokm EmdkciL [AcrlV. 

Isit not so? 



Aj, so die p^per sq^ 

It mems ve siiall no loi^ier nde tihe RiwiiM je ; 
It meaK fisewdl to fav and fibeH^, 
AnilMwiiyy leyect far Ma gpstratrs 
Hie peace and vdlfaie <if tSie CommoQivealfli. 
If an the knaies upon tins continent 
Can nake ^ipeal to Fj^;|land, and so tii «rij^ 
Tlie ends of tradi and jistioe b^ dd^. 
Oar power is gone faieiec. We aie notlniig 
Skit c^pheiSp ¥alaeies5 saie wiien ve fallov 
and cnrnnit is die King! 



I corfess 






T -^ 



Sc. iv.j yolm Endicott, yj 

And the respect of others. 'T is my doom, 

Yes, my death-warrant, but must be obeyed ! 

Take it, and see that it is executed 

So far as this, that all be set at large ; 

But see that none of them be sent to England 

To bear false witness, and to spread reports 

That might be prejudicial to ourselves. 

{Exit Bellingham. 

There 's a dull pain keeps knocking at my heart. 
Dolefully saying, " Set thy house in order, 
For thou shalt surely die, and shalt not live ! " 
For me the shadow on the dial-plate 
Goeth not back, but on into the dark ! 

[Exit, 



SCENE IV. The street. A crowds reading a placard on the 
door of the Meeting-house, NICHOLAS IJPSALL amo7ig 
thent. Enter John Norton. 

NORTON. 

What is this gathering here ? 

UPSALL. 

One William Brand, 
An old man like ourselves, and weak in body, 
Has been so cruelly tortured in his prison, 
The people are excited, and they threaten 
To tear the prison down. 



78 Jolm EndicotL [Act I v. 

NORTON. 

What has been done ? 

UPSALL. 

He has been put in irons, with his neck 
And heels tied close together, and so left 
From five in the morning until nine at night. 

NORTON. 

\Vhat more was done ? 

UPSALL. 

He has been kept five days 
In prison without food, and cruelly beaten, 
So that his limbs were cold, his senses stopped. 

NORTON. 

"What more 1 

UPSALL. 

And is this not enough } 

NORTON. 

Now hear me. 
This William Brand of yours has tried to beat 
Our Gospel Ordinances black and blue ; 
And, if he has been beaten in like manner, 
It is but justice, and I will appear 
In his behalf that did so. I suppose 
That he refused to work. 

UPSALL. 

He was too weak. 
How could an old man work, when he was star\^ing ? 



Sc. IV.] yoh7i Endicott 79 

NORTON. 

And what is this placard ? 

UPSALL. 

The Magistrates, 
To appease the people and prevent a tumult, 
Have put up these placards throughout the town. 
Declaring that the jailer shall be dealt with 
Impartially and sternly by the Court. 

NORTON (tearing dow7i the placard), 

Down with this weak and cowardly concession. 

This flag of truce with Satan and with Sin ! 

I fling it in his face ! I trample it 

Under my feet ! It is his cunning craft. 

The masterpiece of his diplomacy. 

To cry and plead for boundless toleration. 

But toleration is the first-born child 

Of all abominations and deceits. 

There is no room in Christ's triumphant army 

For tolerationists. And if an Angel 

Preach any other gospel unto you 

Than that ye have received, God's malediction 

Descend upon him ! Let him be accursed ! 

{Exit, 

UPSALL. 

Now, go thy ways, John Norton ! go thy ways. 
Thou Orthodox Evangelist, as men call thee ! 
But even now there cometh out of England, 



8o yolm mEndicott, [Act IV. 

Like an o'ertaking and accusing conscience, 
An outraged man, to call thee to account 
For the unrighteous murder of his son ! 

{Exit, 



SCENE V. The Wilderness, Enter Edith. 
EDITH. 

How beautiful are these autumnal woods ! 

The wilderness doth blossom like the rose, 

And change into a garden of the Lord ! 

How silent everywhere ! Alone and lost 

Here in the forest, there comes over me 

An inward awfulness. I recall the words 

Of the Apostle Paul : " In journeyings often. 

Often in perils in the wilderness, 

In weariness, in painfulness, in watchings. 

In hunger and thirst, in cold and nakedness " ; 

And I forget my weariness and pain. 

My watchings, and my hunger and my thirst. 

The Lord hath said that he will seek his flock 

In cloudy and dark days, and they shall dwell 

Securely in the wilderness, and sleep 

Safe in the woods ! Whichever way I turn, 

I come back with my face towards the town. 

Dimly I see it, and the sea beyond it. 



Sc. v.] yohfi EndicotL 8i 

cruel town ! I know what waits me there, 
And yet I must go back ; for ever louder 

1 hear the inward calling of the Spirit, 

And must obey the voice. O woods, that wear 
Your golden crown of martyrdom, blood-stained, 
From you I learn a lesson of submission, 
And am obedient even unto death, 
If God so wills it. 

\Exit. 
JOHN ENDICOTT {within), 

Edith! Edith! Edith! 
He enters. 

It is in vain ! I call, she answers not ; 
I follow, but I find no trace of her ! 
Blood ! blood ! The leaves above me and around me 
Are red with blood ! The pathways of the forest, 
The clouds that canopy the setting sun. 
And even the little river in the meadows 
Are stained with it ! Where'er I look, I see it ! 
Away, thou horrible vision ! Leave me ! leave me 1 
Alas ! yon winding stream, that gropes its way 
Through mist and shadow, doubling on itself. 
At length will find, by the unerring law 
Of nature, what it seeks. O soul of man. 
Groping through mist and shadow, and recoiling 
Back on thyself, are, too, thy devious ways 
Subject to law? and when thou seemest to wander 
4* F 



82 John Endicott, [Act IV. 

The farthest from thy goal, art thou still drawing 
Nearer and nearer to it, till at length 
Thou findest, like the river, what thou seekest ? 

lExit. 



END OF ACT IV. 



Sc. I.] John Endicott, 83 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. Daybreak. Street i7i front of U PS all's house, 
A light in the window, E?iter John Endicott. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

O silent, sombre, and deserted streets, 

To me ye 're peopled with a sad procession, 

And echo only to the voice of sorrow ! 

houses full of peacefulness and sleep. 
Far better were it to awake no more 

Than wake to look upon such scenes again ! 
There is a light in Master Upsall's window. 
The good man is already risen, for sleep 
Deserts the couches of the old. 

Knocks at Upsall's door. 
UPSALL {at the window). 

WciO 's there ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Am I SO changed you do not know my voice ? 

UPSALL. 

1 know you. Have you heard what things have 

happened ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 



I have heard nothing. 



UPSALL. 

Stay ; I will come down. 



84 yoJin Eiidicott, [Act V. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

r am afraid some dreadful news awaits me ! 
I do not dare to ask, yet am impatient 
To know the worst. O, I am very weary 
With waiting and with watching and pursuing ! 

Enter U PS ALL. 
UPSALL. 

Thank God, you have come back ! I Ve much to 

tell you. 
Where have you been ? 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

You know that 1 was seized, 
Fined, and released again. You know that Edith, 
After her scourging in three towns, was banished 
Into the wilderness, into the land 
That is not sown ; and there I followed her, 
But found her not. Where is she ? 

UPSALL. 

She is here. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

O, do not speak that word, for it means death ! 

UPSALL. 

Yet is it true. She sleeps there in that chamber. 
Listen to me. When news of Leddra's death 
Reached England, Edward Burroughs, having boldly 
Got access to the presence of the King, 
Told him there was a vein of innocent blood 



Sc. II.] yohn Eiidicott, 85 

Opened in his dominions here, which threatened 

To overrun them all. The King replied, 

" But I will stop that vein ! " and he forthwith 

Sent his Mandamus to our Magistrates, 

That they proceed no further in this business. 

So all are pardoned, and all set at large. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

Thank God ! This is a victory for truth ! 

Our thoughts are free. They cannot be shut up 

In prison walls, nor put to death on scaffolds ! 

UPSALL. 

Come in ; the morning air blows sharp and cold 
Through the damp streets. 

JOHN ENDICOTT. 

It is the dawn of day 
That chases the old darkness from our sky, 
And fills the land with liberty and light. 

\Exeunt, 



SCENE II. The parlor of the Three Mariners. Enter 
Kempthorn. 

KEMPTHORN. 

A dull life this, — a dull life anyway ! 
Ready for sea ; the cargo all aboard. 
Cleared for Barbadoes, and a fair wind blowing 
From nor'-nor'-west ; and I, an idle lubber. 



86 yohn Endicott, [Act V. 

Laid neck and heels by that confounded bond ! 
I said to Ralph, says I, " What 's to be done ? " 
Says he : " Just slip your hawser in the night ; 
Sheer off, and pay it with the topsail, Simon.'' 
But that won't do ; because, you see, the owners 
Somehow or other are mixed up with it. 
Here are King Charles's Twelve Good Rules, that 

Cole 
Thinks as important as the Rule of Three. {Reads.) 
" Make no comparisons ; make no long meals." 
Those are good rules and golden for a landlord 
To hang in his best parlor, framed and glazed ! 
" Maintain no ill opinions ; urge no healths." 
I drink the King's, whatever he may say, 
And, as to ill opinions, that depends. 
Now of Ralph Goldsmith I 've a good opinion, 
And of the bilboes I 've an ill opinion ; 
And both of these opinions I '11 maintain 
As long as there 's a shot left in the locker. 

Enter Edward Butter with an ear-trumpet.. 

BUTTER. 

Good morning. Captain Kempthorn. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Sir, to you. 
You Ve the advantage of me. I don't know you. 
What may I call your name ? 

BUTTER. 

That 's not your name ? 



Sc. II.] yolm Endicott, ^y 

KEMPTHORN. 

Yes, that 's my name. What 's yours ? 

BUTTER. 

My name is Butter. 
I am the treasurer of the Commonwealth. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Will you be seated ? 

BUTTER. 

What say ? Who 's conceited ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Will you sit down } 

BUTTER. 

O, thank you. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Spread yourself 
Upon this chair, sweet Butter. 

BUTTER (sitting down), 

A fine morning. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Nothing 's the matter with it that I know of. 

I have seen better, and I have seen worse. 

The wind 's norVest. That 's fair for them that sail. 

BUTTER. 

You need not speak so loud ; I understand you. 
You sail to-day. 

KEMPTHORN. 

No, I don't sail to-day. 
So, be it fair or foul, it matters not. 
Say, will you smoke ? There 's choice tobacco here. 



88 yoku En^oM. [Act V. 



No, thank yoa. It 's against the law to 

KEMPTHORX. 

Then, will you drink ? There 's good ale at this inn. 

BUTTER. 

Xo, thank you. It 's against the law to drink. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Well, almost everything 's against the law 

In this good town. Give a wide berth to one things 

You 're sore to fetch up soon on something else. 

BUTTER. 

And so you sail to-day for dear Old Fj^rbnii 
I am not one of diose wbo thmk a sop 

Of this New England air is better worth 

Than a whole draught of oiDr Old England's ale. 

KSMFTHO&N. 

Nor L Give me the ale and keep Ae air. 

But, as I said, I do not sail toniay. 

BUTTER. 

All yes ; you sail to-day. 

KE3IPTH0R>'. 

I 'm under bonds 
To take some Quakers back to tiie Baxfaadoes ; 
And one of tbem is banished, and anodier 
Is sentenced to be hanged. 



Sc. II.] yohn Endicott. 89 

BUTTER. 

No, all are pardoned, 
All are set free, by order of the Court ; 
But some of them would fain return to England. 
You must not take them. Upon that condition 
Your bond is cancelled. 

KEMPTHORN. 

Ah, the wind has shifted ! 
I pray you, do you speak officially ? 

BUTTER. 

I always speak officially. To prove it, 
Here is the bond. 

Rising, and giving a paper, 
KEMPTHORN. 

And here 's my hand upon it. 
And, look you, when I say I '11 do a thing 
The thing is done. Am I now free to go ? 

BUTTER. 

What say ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

I say, confound the tedious man 
With his strange speaking-trumpet ! Can I go ? 

BUTTER. 

You Ve free to go, by order of the Court. 
Your servant, sir. 

\Exit. 



90 yohn Endicott. [Act V. 

KEMPTHORN {shouting from the window). 
Swallow, ahoy! Hallo! 
If ever a man was happy to leave Boston, 
That man is Simon Kempthorn of the Swallow ! 

Re-ejiter Butter. 

BUTTER. 

Pray, did you call ? 

KEMPTHORN. 

Call t Yes, I hailed the Swallow. 

BUTTER. 

That 's not my name. My name is Edward Butter. 
You need not speak so loud. 

KEMPTHORN [shaking hands). 

Good by ! Good by ! 

BUTTER. 

Your servant, sir. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And yours a thousand times ! 

Exeunt. 



SCENE III. Governor Endicott's private room. An 
open window. Endicott seated in an ar??t-chair. Bel- 
LINGHAM staJiding near. 

ENDICOTT. 

O lost, O loved ! wilt thou return no more ? 

O loved and lost, and loved the more when lost ! 



Sc. III.J Jolm Endicott, 91 

How many men are dragged into their graves 
By their rebelHous children ! I now feel 
The agony of a father's breaking heart 
In David's cry, " O Absalom, my son ! " 

BELLINGHAM. 

Can you not turn your thoughts a little while 
To public matters ? There are papers here 
That need attention. 

ENDICOTT. 

Trouble me no more ! 
My business now is with another world. 
Ah, Richard Bellingham ! I greatly fear 
That in my righteous zeal I have been led 
To doing many things which, left undone, 
My mind would now be easier. Did I dream it, 
Or has some person told me, that John Norton 
Is dead? 

BELLINGHAM. 

You have not dreamed it. He is dead, 
And gone to his reward. It was no dream. 

ENDICOTT. 

Then it was very sudden ; for I saw him 
Standing where you now stand not long ago. 

BELLINGHAM. 

By his own fireside, in the afternoon, 

A faintness and a giddiness came o'er him ; 



92 yoJm Eiidicott, [Act v. 

And, leaning on the chimney-piece, he cried, 
" The hand of God is on me ! " and fell dead. 

ENBICOTT. 

And did not some one say, or have I dreamed it, 
That Humphrey Atherton is dead ? 

BELLINGHAM. 

Alas ! 
He too is gone, and by a death as sudden. 
Returning home one evening, at the place 
Where usually the Quakers have been scourged. 
His horse took fright, and threw him to the ground. 
So that his brains were dashed about the street. 

ENDICOTT. 

I am not superstitious, Bellingham, 
And yet I tremble lest it may have been 
A judgment on him. 

BELLINGHAM. 

So the people think. 
They say his horse saw standing in the way 
The ghost of William Leddra, and was frightened. 
And furthermore, brave Richard Davenport, 
The captain of the Castle, in the storm 
Has been struck dead by lightning. 

ENDICOTT. 

Speak no more. 
For as I listen to your voice it seems 
As if the Seven Thunders uttered their voices, 



Sc. III.] John Endicott, 93 

And the dead bodies lay about the streets 
Of the disconsolate city ! Bellingham, 
I did not put those wretched men to death. 
I did but guard the passage with the sword 
Pointed towards them, and they rushed upon it ! 
Yet now I would that I had taken no part 
In all that bloody work. 

BELLINGHAM. 

The guilt of it 
Be on their heads, not ours. 



Are all set free ? 



ENDICOTT. 
BELLINGHAM. 

All are at large. 

ENDICOTT. 

And none have been sent back 
To England to malign us with the King ? 

BELLINGHAM. 

The ship that brought them sails this very hour, 
But carries no one back. 

A distant cannon, 
ENDICOTT. 

What is that gun .^ 

BELLINGHAM. 

Her parting signal. Through the window there, 



94 JoJin Endicott, [ActV. 

Look, you can see her sails, above the roofs, 
Dropping below the Castle, outward bound. 

ENDICOTT. 

white, white, white ! Would that my soul had 

wings 
As spotless as those shining sails to fly with ! 
Now lay this cushion straight. I thank you. Hark ! 

1 thought I heard the hall door open and shut ! 
I thought I heard the footsteps of my boy ! 

BELLINGHAJM. 

It was the wind. There 's no one in the passage. 

EXDICOTr. 

O Absalom, my son ! I feel the world 
Sinking beneath me, sinking, sinking, sinking ! 
Death knocks ! I go to meet him ! Welcome, Death ! 

Rises ^ and sinks back dead ; his head falling aside upon his 

shoulder, 

BELLINGHAM. 

O ghastly sight ! Like one who has been hanged ! 
Endicott ! Endicott ! He makes no answer ! 

Raises Endicott's head. 

He breathes no more ! How bright this signet-ring 
Glitters upon his hand, where he has worn it 
Through such long years of trouble, as if Death 
Had given him this memento of affection. 



Sc. III.] yo}m Endicott, 95 

And whispered in his ear, ^^ Remember me ! " 

How placid and how quiet is his face, 

Now that the struggle and the strife are ended ! 

Only the acrid spirit of the times 

Corroded this true steel. O, rest in peace, 

Courageous heart ! Forever rest in peace ! 



THE END. 



11. 



GILES COREY 



OF THE SALEM FARMS 



For Costume, see Drake's History of Boston. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

Giles Corey, Farmer, 

John Hathorne, Magistrate, 

Cotton Mather, Minister of the Gospel, 

Jonathan Walcot, ..... a youth. 

Richard Gardner, ...... Sea-Captain. 

John Gloyd, Corey's hired man, 

Martha, wife of Giles Corey, 

TiTUBA, an Indian woman, 

Mary Walcot, one of the Afflicted, 

The Scene is in Salem in the year 1692. 



PROLOGUE. 

DELUSIONS of the days that once have been, 
Witchcraft and wonders of the world unseen, 
Phantoms of air, and necromantic arts 
That crushed the weak and awed the stoutest 

hearts, — 
These are our theme to-night ; and vaguely here, 
Through the dim mists that crowd the atmosphere, 
We draw the outlines of weird figures cast 
In shadow on the background of the Past. 

Who would believe that in the quiet town 
Of Salem, and amid the woods that crown 
The neighboring hillsides, and the sunny farms 
That fold it safe in their paternal arms, — 
Who would believe that in those peaceful streets, 
Where the great elms shut out the summer heats, 
Where quiet reigns, and breathes through brain and 

breast 
The benediction of unbroken rest, — 
Who would believe such deeds could find a place 
As these v/hose tragic history we retrace ? 

'T was but a village then : the goodman ploughed 
His ample acres under sun or cloud j 
The goodwife at her doorstep sat and spun. 
And gossiped with her neighbors in the sun ; 



102 Prolooiie, 



i> 



The only men of dignity and state 
Were then the Minister and the Magistrate, 
Who ruled their little realm with iron rod, 
Less in the love than in the fear of God ; 
And who believed devoutly in the Powers 
Of Darkness, working in this world of ours, 
In spells of Witchcraft, incantations dread. 
And shrouded apparitions of the dead. 

Upon this simple folk " with fire and flame," 
Saith the old Chronicle, " the Devil came ; 
Scattering his firebrands and his poisonous darts. 
To set on fire of Hell all tongues and hearts 1 
And 't is no wonder j for, with all his host, 
There most he rages where he hateth most. 
And is most hated \ so on us he brings 
All these stupendous and portentous things ! " 

Something of this our scene to-night will show ; 
And ye who listen to the Tale of Woe, 
Be not too swift in casting the first stone, 
Nor think New England bears the guilt alone. 
This sudden burst of wickedness and crime 
Was but the common madness of the time, 
When in all lands, that lie within the sound 
Of Sabbath bells, a Witch was burned or drowned. 



GILES COREY 
OF THE SALEM FARMS. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. The woods near Salein Village, Enter TiTUBA, 
with a basket of herbs, 

TITUBA. 

Here 's monk's-hoodj that breeds fever in the blood; 
And deadly nightshade, that makes men see ghosts ; 
And henbane, that will shake them with convulsions ; 
And meadow-saffron and black hellebore. 
That rack the nerves, and puff the skin with dropsy ; 
And bitter-sweet, and briony, and eye-bright, 
That cause eruptions, nosebleed, rheumatisms ; 
I know them, and the places where they hide 
In field and meadow ; and I know their secrets, 
And^gather them because they give me power 
Over all men and women. Armed with these, 
I, Tituba, an Indian and a slave. 
Am stronger than the captain with his sword, 
Am richer than the merchant with his money. 



104 Giles Corey [Aci- 1. 

Am wiser than the scholar with his books, 

Mightier than Ministers and Magistrates, 

With all the fear and reverence that attend them ! 

For I can fill their bones with aches and pains. 

Can make them cough with asthma, shake with palsy. 

Can make their daughters see and talk with ghosts, 

Or fall into dehrium and convulsions. 

I have the E\il Eye, the E\il Hand ; 

A touch from me, and they are weak with pain, 

A look from me, and they consume and die. 

The death of cattle and the blight of corn. 

The shipwreck, the tornado, and the fire, — 

These are my doings, and they know it not. 

Thus I work vengeance on mine enemies, 

Who, while they call me slave, are slaves to me ! 

Exit TiTUBA. E7tter Mather, hooted and spurred, with 
a riding-ivhip in his hand. 

MATHER. 

Methinks that I have come by paths unknown 
Into the land and atmosphere of Witches ; 
For, meditating as I journeyed on, 
Lo ! I have lost my way ! If I remember 
Rightly, it is Scribonius the learned 
That tells the story of a man who, praying 
For one that was possessed by E\il Spirits, 
Was struck by Evil Spirits in the face ; 
I, journeying to circumvent the Witches, 
Surely by Witches have been led astray. 



Sc. I.] of the Salem Farms, 105 

I am persuaded there are few affairs 
In which the Devil doth not interfere. 
We cannot undertake a journey even, 
But Satan will be there to meddle with it 
By hindering or by furthering. He hath led me 
Into this thicket, struck me in the face 
With branches of the trees, and so entangled 
The fetlocks of my horse with vines and brambles, 
That I must needs dismount, and search on foot 
For the lost pathway leading to the village. 
Re-enter TiTUBA. 

What shape is this 1 What monstrous apparition, 
Exceeding fierce, that none may pass that way ? 
Tell me, good woman, if you are a woman — 

TITUBA. 

I am a woman, but I am not good. 
I am a Witch 1 

MATHER. 

Then tell me. Witch and woman. 
For you must know the pathways through this wood. 
Where lieth Salem Village ? 

TITUBA. 

Reverend sir, 
The village is near by. I 'm going there 
With these few herbs. I '11 lead you. Follow me. 

MATHER. 

First say, who are you ? I am loath to follow 
A stranger in this wilderness, for fear 

5* 



lo6 Giles Corey [Act I. 

Of being misled, and left in some morass. 
AVho are you ? 

TITUBA. 

I am Tituba the Witch, 
Wife of John Indian. 

MATHER. 

You are Tituba ? 
I know you then. You have renounced the Devil, 
And have become a penitent confessor. 
The Lord be praised ! Go on, I '11 follow you. 
Wait only till I fetch my horse, that stands 
Tethered among the trees, not far from here. 

TITUBA. 

Let me get up behind you, reverend sir. 

MATHER. 

The Lord forbid ! What would the people think. 
If they should see the Reverend Cotton Mather 
Ride into Salem with a Witch behind him ? 
The Lord forbid ! 

TITUBA. 

I do not need a horse ; 
I can ride through the air upon a stick, 
Above the tree-tops and above the houses, 
And no one see me, no one overtake me ! 

\^Exeunt, 



Sc. II.] of tlie Salem Farms. 107 



SCENE II. A roofn at Justice Hathorne's. A dock hi 
the corner. Enter Hathorne and Mather. 

HATHORNE. 

You are welcome, reverend sir, thrice welcome here 
Beneath my humble roof. 

MATHER. ' 

I thank your Worship. 
hathorne. 
Pray you be seated. You must be fatigued 
With your long ride through unfrequented woods. 

They sit down, 

MATHER. 

You know the purport of my visit here, — 

To be advised by you, and counsel with you, 

And with the Reverend Clergy of the village, 

Touching these witchcrafts that so much afflict you ; 

And see with mine own eyes the wonders told 

Of spectres and the shadows of the dead. 

That come back from their graves to speak with men. 

HATHORNE. 

Some men there are, I have known such, who think 
That the two worlds — the seen and the unseen, 
The world of matter and the world of spirit — 
Are like the hemispheres upon our maps. 
And touch each other only at a point. 



io8 Giles Corey [Act I. 

But these two worlds are not divided thus, 
Save for the purposes of common speech. 
They form one globe, in which the parted seas 
All flow together and are intermingled, 
AVhile the great continents remain distinct. 

MATHER. 

I doubt it not. The spiritual world 

Lies all about us, and its avenues 

Are open to the unseen feet of phantoms 

That come and go, and we perceive them not 

Save by their influence, or when at times 

A most mysterious Providence permits them 

To manifest themselves to mortal eyes. 

HATHORNE. 

You, who are always welcome here among us, 
Are doubly welcome now. We need your wisdom, 
Your learning in these things, to be our guide. 
The Devil hath come down in wrath upon us, 
And ravages the land with all his hosts. 

MATHER. 

The Unclean Spirit said, " My name is Legion ! " 

Multitudes in the Valley of Destruction ! 

But when our fervent, well-directed prayers, 

Which are the great artillery of Heaven, 

Are brought into the field, I see them scattered 

And driven like Autumn leaves before the wind. 

HATHORNE. 

You, as a Minister of God, can meet them 



Sc. II.] of the Salem Farms. 109 

With spiritual weapons ; but, alas ! 
I, as a Magistrate, must combat them 
With weapons from the armory of the flesh. 

MATHER. 

These wonders of the world invisible, — 

These spectral shapes that haunt our habitations, — 

The multiplied and manifold afflictions 

With which the aged and the dying saints 

Have their death prefaced and their age imbittered, — 

Are but prophetic trumpets that proclaim 

The Second Coming of our Lord on earth. 

The evening wolves will be much more abroad, 

"When we are near the evening of the world. 

HATHORNE. 

When you shall see, as I have hourly seen. 
The sorceries and the witchcrafts that torment us, 
See children tortured by invisible spirits. 
And wasted and consumed by powers unseen. 
You will confess the half has not been told you. 

MATHER. 

It must be so. The death-pangs of the Devil 
Will make him more a Devil than before. 
And Nebuchadnezzar's furnace will be heated 
Seven times more hot before its putting out. 

HATHORNE. 

Advise me, reverend sir. I look to you 
For counsel and for guidance in this matter. 
What further shall we do ? 



I lO Giles Corey [Act L 

MATHER, 

Remember this, 
That as a sparrow falls not to the ground 
Without the will of God, so not a De\il 
Can come down from the air without his leave. 
We must inquire. 

HATHORXE. 

Dear sir, we have inquired ; 
Sifted the matter thoroughly through and through, 
And then resifted it, 

MATHER. 

If God permits 
These E\t1 Spirits from the unseen regions 
To \Tsit us with surprising informations. 
We must inquire what cause there is for this. 
But not receive the testimony borne 
By spectres as conclusive proof of guilt 
In the accused. 

HATHORXE, 

Upon such e\'idence 
We do not rest our case. The ways are many 
In which the guilt}' do betray themselves. 

MATHER. 

Be careful. Carry the knife with such exactness, 
That on one side no innocent blood be shed 
By too excessive zeal, and, on the other 
No shelter given to any work of darkness. 



Sc. II.] of the Salem Farms, ii i 

HATHORNE. 

For one, I do not fear excess of zeal. 

What do we gain by parleying with the Devil ? 

You reason, but you hesitate to act ! 

Ah, reverend sir ! believe me, in such cases 

The only safety is in acting promptly. 

'T is not the part of wisdom to delay 

In things where not to do is still to do 

A deed more fatal than the deed we shrink from. 

You are a man of books and meditation, 

But I am one who acts. 

MATHER. 

God give us wisdom 
In the directing of this thorny business. 
And guide us, lest New England should become 
Of an unsavory and sulphurous odor 
In the opinion of the world abroad ! 

The clock strikes. 

I never hear the striking of a clock 
Without a warning and an admonition 
That time is on the wing, and we must quicken 
Our tardy pace in journeying Heavenward, 
As Israel did in journeying Canaan-ward ! 

They rise, 

HATHORNE. 

Then let us make all haste ; and I will show you 
In what disguises and what fearful shapes 



1 1 2 Giles Corey [Act L 

The Unclean Spirits haunt this neighborhood, 
And you will pardon my excess of zeal. 

MATHER. 

Ah, poor Xew England ! He who hurricanoed 

The house of Job is making now on thee 

One last assault, more deadly and more snarled 

With unintelligible circumstances 

Than any thou hast hitherto encountered ! 

\Exeunt. 



SCENE III. A room in Walcot's home, Mary Wal- 
COT seated in an arm-^hair. TlTUBA with a mirror, 

MARY. 

Tell me another stoiy-, Tituba. 

A drowsiness is stealing over me 

Which is not sleep ; for, though I close mine eyes, 

I am awake, and in another world. 

Dim faces of the dead and of the absent 

Come floating up before me, — floating, fading, 

And disappearing. 



TITURA. 

Look into this glass. 



\Miat see you ? 



o' 



MARY. 

Notliing but a golden vapor. 



Sc. III.] of the Saleui Farms. 113 

Yes, something more. An island, with the sea 
Breaking all round it, like a blooming hedge. 
What land is this ? 

TITUBA. 

It is San Salvador, 
Where Tituba was born. \Miat see you now ? 

MARY. 

A man all black and fierce. 

TITUBA. 

That is my father. 
He was an Obi man, and taught me magic, — 
Taught me the use of herbs and images. 
What is he doing 1 

MARY. 

Holding in his hand 
A waxen figure. He is melting it 
Slowly before a fire. 

TITUBA. 

And now what see you ? 

MARY. 

A woman lying on a bed of leaves, 
Wasted and worn away. Ah, she is dying ! 

TITUBA. 

That is the way the Obi men destroy 
The people they dislike ! That is the way 
Some one is wasting and consuming you. 

H 



114 Giles Cony [Act I. 

MARY. 

You terrify me, Tituba ! O, save me 

From those who make me pine and waste away ! 

Who are they ? Tell me. 

TITUBA. 

That I do not know, 
But you will see them. They will come to you. 

MARY. 

No, do not let them come ! I cannot bear it ! 
I am too weak to bear it ! I am dying ! 

Falls i?ito a trance, 

TITUBA. 

Hark ! there is some one coming ! 

Enter Hathorne, Mather, and Walcot. 

WALCOT. 

There she lies, 
Wasted and worn by devilish incantations ! 
O my poor sister ! 

MATHER. 

Is she always thus ? 

WALCOT. 

Nay, she is sometimes tortured by convulsions. 

MATHER. 

Poor child ! How thin she is ! How wan and 
wasted ! 



Sc. III.] of the Salem Farms, 115 

HATHORNE. 

Observe her. She is troubled in her sleep. 

MATHER. 

Some fearful vision haunts her. 

HATHORNE. 

You now see 
With your o^vn eyes, and touch with your own hands, 
The mysteries of this Witchcraft. 

MATHER. 

One would need 
The hands of Briareus and the eyes of Argus 
To see and touch them all. 

HATHORNE. 

You now have entered 
The realm of ghosts and phantoms, — the vast realm 
Of the unknown and the invisible, 
Through whose wide-open gates there blows a wind 
From the dark valley of the shadow of Death, 
That freezes us with horror. 

MARY (starting). 

Take her hence ! 
Take her avv^ay from me. I see her there ! 
She 's coming to torment me ! 

WALCOT (taking her hand), 

O my sister ! 
What frightens you ? She neither hears nor sees me. 
She 's in a trance. 



Il6 Giles Corey [Act I. 

MARY. 

Do you not see her there ? 

TITUBA. 

My child, who is it ? 

MARY. 

Ah, I do not know. 
I cannot see her face. 

TITUBA. 

How is she clad ? 

]\IARY. 

She wears a crimson bodice. In her hand 
She holds an image, and is pinching it 
Between her fingers. Ah, she tortures me ! 
I see her face now. It is Goodwife Bishop ! 
Why does she torture me ? I never harmed her ! 
And now she strikes me with an iron rod ! 
O, I am beaten ! 

MATHER. 

This is wonderful ! 
I can see nothing ! Is this apparition 
Visibly there, and yet we cannot see it ? 

HATHORNE. 

It is. The spectre is invisible 

Unto our grosser senses, but she sees it. 

MARY. 

Look ! look ! there is another clad in gray ! 
She holds a spindle in her hand, and threatens 
To stab me with it ! It is Goodwife Corey ! 



Sc. III.] of the Salem Farms. 117 

Keep her away ! Now she is coming at me ! 
O mercy ! mercy ! 

WALCOT [thrusting with his sword). 

There is nothing there ! 

MATHER (to HaTHORNE). 

Do you see anything ? 

HATHORNE. 

The laws that govern 
The spiritual world prevent our seeing 
Things palpable and visible to her. 
These spectres are to us as if they were not. 
Mark her j she wakes. 

TiTUBA touches her, and she awakes, 
MARY. 

Who are these gentlemen ? 

WALCOT. 

They are our friends. Dear Mary, are you better ? 

MARY. 

Weak, very weak. 

Taking a spindle from her lap, and holding it up. 

How came this spindle here ? 

TITUBA. 

You wrenched it from the hand of Goodwife Corey 
When she rushed at you. 

HATHORNE. 

Mark that, reverend sir ! 



1 1 8 Giles Corey [Act I. 

MATHER. 

It is most marvellous, most inexplicable ! 

TITUBA (picking tip a bit of gray cloth frojti the floor). 

And here, too, is a bit of her gray dress. 
That the sword cut away. 

MATHER. 

Beholding this, 
It were indeed by far more credulous 
To be incredulous than to believe. 
None but a Sadducee, who doubts of all 
Pertaining to the spiritual world, 
Could doubt such manifest and damning proofs ! 

HATHORNE. 

Are you convinced ? 

MATHER {to Mary). 

Dear child, be comforted ! 
Only by prayer and fasting can you drive 
These Unclean Spirits from you. An old man 
Gives you his blessing. God be with you, Mary ! 



END OF ACT I. 



Sc. I.] of the Salem Farms, 119 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. Giles Corey's farm. Morning, Enter 
Corey, with a horseshoe and a hammer, 

COREY. 

The Lord hath prospered me. The rising sun 
Shines on my Hundred Acres and my woods 
As if he loved them. On a morn hke this 
I can forgive mine enemies, and thank God 
For all his goodness unto me and mine. 
My orchard groans with russets and pearmains ; 
My ripening corn shines golden in the sun ; * 
My barns are crammed with hay, my cattle thrive j 
The birds sing blithely on the trees around me ! 
And blither than the birds my heart within me, 
But Satan still goes up and down the earth \ 
And to protect this house from his assaults, 
And keep the powers of darkness from my door, 
This horseshoe will I nail upon the threshold. 

Nails down the horseshoe. 

There, ye night-hags and witches that torment 
The neighborhood, ye shall not enter here ! — 
What is the matter in the field ? — John Gloyd ! 
The cattle are all running to the woods ! — 
John Gloyd ! Where is the man ? 



1 20 Giles Cony [Act II. 

Enter John Gloyd. 

Look there ! 
What ails the cattle ? Are they all bewitched ? 

They run like mad. 

GLOYD. 

They have been overlooked. 

COREY. 

The Evil Eye is on them sure enough. 
Call all the men. Be quick. Go after them ! 
Exit Gloyd ajid enter Martha. 
MARTH-A. 

What is amiss ? 

COREY. 

The cattle are be\vitched. 
They are broken loose and making for the woods. 

MARTHA. 

'"\Miy will you harbor such delusions, Giles ? 
Bewitched ? Well, then it was Jolin Gloyd bewitched 

them ; 
I saw him even now take down the bars 
And turn them loose ! They 're only frolicsome. 

COREY. 

The rascal ! 

MARTHA. 

I was standing in the road, 
Talking with Goodwife Proctor, and I saw him. 

COREY. 

With Proctor's wife ? And what says Goodwife 
Proctor ? 



Sc. I.] of the Salem Farms. 121 

MARTHA. 

Sad things indeed \ die saddest you can hear 
Of Bridget Bishop. She 's cried out upon ! 

COREY. 

Poor soul ! I 've knovrn her forty year or more. 

She was the widow Wasselby ; and then 

She married Oliver^ and Bishop next. 

She 's had three husbands. I remember well 

I\Iy games of shovel-board at Bishop's tavern 

In the old merry days, and she so gay 

With her red paragon bodice and her ribbons ! 

All, Bridget Bishop always was a Witch ! 

MARTHA. 

They '11 little help her now, — her caps and ribbons, 
And her red paragon bodice, and her plumes, 
With which she flaunted in the Meeting-house ! 
When next she goes there, it will be for trial. 

COREY. 

When wdll that be ? 

MARTHA. 

This very day at ten. 

COREY. 

Then get you ready. We will go and see it. 
Come ; you shall ride behind me on the pilhon. 

MARTHA. 

Not I. You know I do not like such things. 
I wonder you should. I do not believe 
In Witches nor in Witchcraft. 
6 



122 Giles Corey [Acr II. 

COREY. 

Well, I do. 
There 's a strange fascination in it all, 
That draws me on and on, I know not w^hy. 

MARTHA. 

V\'hat do we know of spirits good or ill, 

Or of their power to help us or to harm us ? 

COREY. 

Surely what 's in the Bible must be true-. 
Did not an E\'il Spirit come on Saul t 
Did not the Witch of En dor bring the ghost 
Of Samuel from his grave ? The Bible says so. 

MARTHA. 

That happened very long ago. 

COREY. 

With God 
There is no long ago. 

MARTHA. 

There is wdth us. 

COREY. 

And Mary Magdalene had seven devils, 
And he who dwelt among the tombs a legion ! 

MARTHA. 

God's power is infinite. I do not doubt it. 
If in his providence he once permitted 
Such things to be among the Israelites, 
It does not follow he permits them now, 
And amonor us who are not Israelites. 



Sc. I.] of the Salem Fai^ms, 123 

But we will not dispute about it, Giles. 

Go to the village, if you think it best, 

And leave me here ; I '11 go about my work. 

\Exit into tJi3 house, 

COREY. 

And I will go and saddle the gray mare. 
The last word always. That is woman's nature. 
If an old man will marry a young wife, 
He must make up his mind to many things. 
It 's putting new cloth into an old garment, 
When the strain comes, it is the old gives way. 

Goes to the door, 

Martha ! I forgot to tell you something. 

1 Ve had a letter from a friend of mine, 
A certain Richard Gardner of Nantucket, 
Master and owner of a whaling-vessel ; 

He writes that he is coming down to see us. 
I hope you '11 like him. 

MARTHA. 

I will do my best. 

COREY. 

That 's a good woman. Now I will be gone. 
I Ve not seen Gardner for this twenty year ; 
But there is something of the sea about him, — 
Something so open, generous, large, and strong, 
It jnakes me love him better than a brother. 

{Exit, 



124 Giles Corey [Act II. 

Martha comes to the door, 
MARTHA. 

these old friends and cronies of my husband, 
These captains from Nantucket and the Cape, 
That come and turn my house into a tavern 
With their carousing ! Still, there 's something 

frank 
In these seafaring men that makes me like them. 
Why, here 's a horseshoe nailed upon the doorstep ! 
Giles has done this to keep away the Witches. 

1 hope this Richard Gardner will bring with him 
A gale of good sound common-sense, to blow 
The fog of these delusions from his brain ! 

COREY (zvithin). 

Ho! Martha! Martha! 

E7iter Corey. 

Have you seen my saddle ? 

MARTHA. 

I saw it yesterday. 

COREY. 

Where did you see it ? 

MARTHA. 

On a gray mare, that somebody was riding 
Along the village road. 

COREY. 

Who was it .? Tell me. 

MARTHA. 

Some one who should have stayed at home. 



Sc. I.] of the Salem Farms, " 125 

COREY ( restrauimg Jii7nself) . 

I see! 
Don't vex me, Martha. Tell me where it is. 

MARTHA. 

I 've hidden it away. 

COREY. 

Go fetch it me. 

MARTHA. 

Go find it. 

COREY. 

No. I '11 ride down to the village 
Bare-back ; and when the people stare and say, 
" Giles Corey, where 's your saddle ? " I will answer, 
" A Witch has stolen it." How shall you like that ? 

MARTHA. 

I shall not like it. 

COREY. 

Then go fetch the saddle. 

\Exit Martha. 
If an old man will marry a young wife, 
Why then ^ why then — why then — he must spell 
Baker !^ 

Enter Martha with the saddle^ which she throws down. 

MARTHA. 

There ! There 's the saddle. 

* A local expression for doing anythmg difficult. In the old spelling- 
books, Baker was the first word of two syllables, and when a child came 
to it he thought he had a hard task before him. 



126 Giles Corey [Act II. 

COREY. 

Take it up. 

MARTHA, 

I won't! 

COREY. ^ 

Then let it lie there. I '11 ride to the tillage, 
And sav vou are a Witch. 

MARTHA. 

No, not that, Giles. 
She takes up the saddle. 
COREY. 

Now come with me, and saddle the gray mare 
AVith your own hands ; and you shall see me ride 
Alons^ the \'illa2:e road as is becominsf 
Giles Corey of the Salem Farms, your husband ! 

\Exeunt, 



SCEXE 11. T7ie Green in front of the Meeting-house in 
Salem Village. People coming and going. Enter Giles 
Corey. 

COREY. 

A melancholy end ! "Who would have thought 
That Bridget Bishop e'er would come to this ? 
Accused, competed, and condemned to death 
For Witchcraft ! And so good a woman too ! 



Sell.] of the Salem Farms, 127 

A FARMER. 

Good morrow, neighbor Corey. 

COREY (not hearing him ) . 

Who is safe ? 
How do I know but under my own roof 
I too may harbor Witches, and some Devil 
Be plotting and contriving against me ? 

FARMER. 

He does not hear. Good morrow, neighbor Corey ! 

COREY. 

Good morrow. 

FARMER. 

Have you seen John Proctor lately ? 

COREY. 



No, I have not 



Why should I not ? 



FARMER. 

Then do not see him, Corey. 

COREY. 



FARMER. 

Because he 's angry with you. 
So keep out of his way. Avoid a quarrel. 

COREY. 

Why does he seek to fix a quarrel on me ? 

FARMER. 

He says you burned his house. 



I-S Giles Corey [Act II. 

COREY. 

I bum his house ? 
If he says that, John Proctor is a liar ! 
The night his house was burned I was in bed, 
And I can prove it ! A\Tiy, we are old friends ! 
He could not say that of me. 



I heard him say it 



FARMER. 

He did say it 



COREY. 

Then he shall unsay it 

FAR3IER. 

He said you did it out of spite to him 
For taking part against you in the quarrel 
You had with your John Gloyd about his wages. 
He says you murdered Goodell ; that you trampled 
Upon his body till he breathed no more. 
And so beware of him ; that 's my ad\'ice ! 

{Exit. 
COREY. 

By Heaven ! this is too much ! I '11 seek him out. 
And make him eat his words, or strangle him. 
I '11 not be slandered at a time like this, 
WTien every word is made an accusation, 
When every whisper kills, and every man 
Walks with a halter round his neck \ 

Enter GXOYD in haste. 

What now t 



Sc. II.] of tlie Salem Farms. 129 

GLOYD. 

I came to look for you. The cattle — 

COREY. 

Well, 
What of them ? Have you found them ? 

GLOYD. 

They are dead. 
I followed them through the woods, across the 

meadows ; 
Then they all leaped into the Ipswich River, 
And swam across, but could not climb the bank, 
And so were drowned. 

COREY. 

You are to blame for this ; 
For you took down the bars, and let them loose. 

GLOYD. 

That I deny. They broke the fences down. 
You know they were bewitched. 

COREY. 

Ah, my poor cattle ! 
The Evil Eye was on them ; that is true. 
Day of disaster ! Most unlucky day ! 
Why did I leave my ploughing and my reaping 
To plough and reap this Sodom and Gomorrah ? 
O, I could drown myself for sheer vexation ! 

{Exit. 
6* I 



I30 Giles Corey [ActIL 

GLOYD. 

He 's going for his cattle. He won't find them. 
By this time they have drifted oat to sea. 
They will not break his fences any more. 
Though they may break his heart And what care I ? 

\Exit, 



SCENE IIL Cc?^-s A tMe with sufj^. 

MARTHA. 

He 's come at last I hear him in the passage. 
Something has gone amiss with him to-day ; 
I know it by his step, and by the sound 
The door made as he sb'jt it He is angry. 

Enter CoREY wit?. jhip. As Ju speaks^ Ju takes 

offkis hat andg^.i x. . ^ ^^^ ^'inrsos them doom violemdy, 

COREY. 

I say if Satan ever entered man 
He 's in John Proctor ! 

MARTHA. 

Giles, what is the matter ? 
You frighten me. 

COREY. 

I sav if anv man 
Can have a Devil in him, then that man 
Is Proctor, — is John Proctor, and no other I 



Sc. III.] of the Salem Farms. i; 

MARTHA. 

Why, what has he been doing ? 

COREY. 

Everything ! 
What do you think I heard there in the village ? 

MARTHA. 

I 'm sure I cannot guess. What did you hear ? 

COREY. 

He says I burned his house ! 

MARTHA. 

Does he say that ? 

COREY. 

He says I burned his house. I was in bed 
And fast asleep that night ; and I can prove it. 

MARTHA. 

If he says that, I think the Father of Lies 
Is surely in the man. 

. COREY. 

He does say that, 
And that I did it to wreak vengeance on him 
For taking sides against me in the quarrel 
I had with that John Gloyd about his wages. 
And God knows that I never bore him malice 
For that, as I have told him twenty times ! 

MARTHA. 

It is John Gloyd has stirred him up to this. 
I do not like that Gloyd. I think him crafty, 



13- Giles Carey [Act II. 

Not to be trusted, sullen, and untruthful. 

Come, have your supper. You are tired and hungry. 

COREY. 

I 'm angry, and not hungr}'. 

MARTHA* 

Do eat something. 
You '11 be the better for it 

COREY [sitting dorjyn). 

I 'm not hungry. 

ICARTHA. 

Let not the sun go down upon your wrath. 

COREY. 

It has gone down upon it, and will rise 
To-morrow, and go down again upon it 
They have trumped up against me the old story 
Of causing Goodell's death by trampling on him. 

MARTHA 

O, that is false. I know it to be false. 

CORFV-. 

He has been dead these fourteen years or more. 
A\Tiy can't they let him rest ? "VMiy must they drag 

him 
Out of his grave to give me a bad name ? 
I did not kill him. In his bed he died. 
As most men die, because his hour had come. 
I have wronged no man. AMiy should Proctor say 



Sc. III.J of the Salem Farms, 133 

Such things about me ? I will not forgive him 

Till he confesses he has slandered me. 

Then, I 've more trouble. All my cattle gone. 

MARTHA. 

They will come t)ack again. 

COREY. 

Not in this world. 
Did I not tell you they were overlooked } 
They ran down through the woods, into the meadows. 
And tried to swim the river, and were drowned. 
It is a heavy loss. 

MARTHA. 

I 'm sorry for it. 

COREY. 

All my dear oxen dead. I loved them, Martha, 

Next to yourself I liked to look at them, 

And watch the breath come out of their wide nostrils, 

And see their patient eyes. Somehow I thought 

It gave me strength only to look at them. 

And how they strained their necks against the yoke 

If I but spoke, or touched them with the goad ! 

They were my friends ; and when Gloyd came and 

told me 
They were all drowned, I could have drowned 

myself 
From sheer vexation ; and I said as much 
To Gloyd and others. 



134 Giles Corey [AcrlL 

MARTHA. 

Do not trust John Gloyd 
With amthing you would not have repeated. 

COREY. 

As I came through the woods this afternoon. 
Impatient at my loss, and much perplexed 
AVith ail that I had heard there in the \-illage. 
The yellow leaves Ut up the trees about me, 
Like an enchanted palace, and I wished 
I knew enough of magic or of Witchcraft 
To change them into gold. Then suddenly 
A tree shook down some crimson leaves upon me, 
Like drops of blood, and in the path before me 
Stood Tituba the Indian, the old crone, 

MARTHA. 

Were you not frightened ? 

COREY. 

Xo, I do not think 
I know the meaning of that word. AMiy frightened ? 
I am not one of those who think the Lord 
Is waiting till he catches them some day 
In the back yard alone ! AVhat should I fear ? 
She started from the bushes by the path, 
And had a basket ftill of herbs and roots 
For some witch-broth or other, — the old hag ! 

MARTHA. 

She has been here to-day. 



Sc. III.] of the Salem Fai^ms, 135 

COREY. 

With hand outstretched 
She said : " Giles Corey, will you sign the Book ? " 
*' Avaunt ! " I cried : " Get thee behind me, Satan ! " 
At which she laughed and left me. But a voice 
Was whispering in my ear continually : 
^' Self-murder is no crime. The life of man 
Is his, to keep it or to throw away ! " 

MARTHA. 

'T was a temptation of the Evil One ! 
Giles, Giles ! why will you harbor these dark 
thoughts ? 

COREY (rising), 

I am too tired to talk. I '11 go to bed. 

MARTHA. 

First tell me something about Bridget Bishop. 
How did she look ? You saw her ? You were there 1 

<20REY. 

1 11 tell you that to-morrow, not to-night. 
I '11 go to bed. 

MARTHA. 

First let us pray together. 

COREY. 

I cannot pray to-night. 

MARTHA. 

Say the Lord's Prayer, 
And that will comfort you. 



136 Giles Corey [Act IL 

COREY. 

I cannot say, 
" As we forgive those that have sinned against us," 
When I do not forgive them. 

MARTHA {kneeling on the hearth), 

God forgive you ! 

COREY. 

I will not make believe ! I say, to-night 

There 's something thwarts me when I wish to pray. 

And thrusts into my mind, instead of prayers, 

Hate and revenge, and things that are not prayers. 

Something of my old self, — my old, bad life, — 

And the old Adam in me, rises up. 

And will not let me pray. I am afraid 

The Devil hinders me. You know I say 

Just what I think, and nothing more nor less. 

And, when I pray, my heart is in my prayer. 

I cannot say one thing and mean another. 

If I can't pray, I will not make believe ! 

\Exit Corey. ^L\RTHA continues kneeling. 



END OF ACT II. 



Sc. I.] of the Salem Faiins, 137 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. Giles Corey's kitchen. Morning. Corey 
and Martha sitting at the breakfast-table. 

COREY [rising). 

Well, now I 've told you all I saw and heard 
Of Bridget Bishop ; and I must be gone. 

ISIARTHA. 

Don't go into the village, Giles, to day. 

Last night you came back tired and out of humor. 

COREY. 

Say, angry j say, right angry. I was never 
In a more devilish temper in my life. 
All things went wrong with me. 

MARTHA. 

You were much vexed ; 
So don't go to the village. 

COREY (going). 

No, I won't. 
I won't go near it. We are going to mow 
The Ipswich meadows for the aftermath, 
The crop of sedge and rowens. 

MARTHA. 

Stay a moment. 



138 Giles Corey [Act III. 

I want to tell you what I dreamed last night. 
Do you believe in dreams ? 

COREY. 

Why, yes and no. 
When they come true, then I believe in them ; 
When they come false, I don't believe in them. 
But let me hear. What did you dream about ? 

MARTHA. 

I dreamed that you and I were both in prison ; 
That we had fetters on our hands and feet; 
That we were taken before the Magistrates, 
And tried for Witchcraft, and condemned to death ! 
I wished to pray ; they would not let me pray ; 
You tried to comfort me, and they forbade it. 
But the most dreadful thing in all my dream 
Was that they made you testify against me 1 
And then there came a kind of mist between us ; 
I could not see you ; and I woke in terror. 
I never was more thankful in my life 
Than when I found you sleeping at my side 1 

COREY {witJi tenderness). 

It was our talk last night that made you dream. 

I 'm sorry for it. I '11 control myself 

Another time, and keep my temper down ! 

I do not like such dreams. — Remember, Martha, 

I 'm going to mow the Ipswich River meadows ; 

If Gardner comes, you '11 tell him where to find me. 

\ExiL 



Sc. II.] of the Salem Farms, 139 

MARTHA. 

So this delusion grows from bad to worse. 
First, a forsaken and forlorn old woman, 
Ragged and wretched, and without a friend ; 
Then something higher. Now it 's Bridget Bishop ; 
God only knows w^hose turn it will be next ! 
The Magistrates are blind, the people mad ! 
If they would only seize the Afflicted Children, 
And put them in the Workhouse, where they should 

be. 
There 'd be an end of all this wickedness. 

\Exit 



SCENE II. A street in Salem Village, Enter Matties and 
Hathorne. 

MATHER. 

Yet one thing troubles me. 

HATHORNE. 

And w^hat is that ? 

MATHER. 

May not the Devil take the outward shape 
Of innocent persons? Are we not in danger. 
Perhaps, of punishing some w^ho are not guilty ? 

HATHORNE. 

As I have said, we do not trust alone 
To spectral evidence. 



140 Giles Corey [Act III. 

MATHER. 

And then again, 
If any shall be put to death for Witchcraft, 
AVe do but kill the body, not the soul. 
The Unclean Spirits that possessed them once 
Live still, to enter into other bodies. 
What have we gained ? Surely, there 's nothing 
gained. 

HATHORXE. 

Doth not the Scripture say, "Thou shalt not suffer 
A Witch to live " 1 

MATHER. 

The Scripture sayeth it, 
But speaketh to the Jews ; and we are Christians. 
What say the laws of England t 

HATHORNE. 

They make Witchcraft 
Felony without the benefit of Clergy. 
Witches are burned in England. You have read — 
For you read all things, not a book escapes you — 
The famous Demonolog}^ of King James ? 

MATHER. 

A curious volume. I remember also 

The plot of the Two Hundred, with one Fian, 

The Registrar of the Devil, at their head, 

To drown his Majesty on his return 

From Denmark ; how they sailed in sieves or riddles 

Unto North Berwick Kirk in Lothian, 



Sell.] of the Salem Farms. 141 



fej 



And, landing there, danced hand in hand, and sang 
" Goodwife, go ye before ! goodwife, go ye ! 
If ye '11 not go before, goodwife, let me ! " 
While Geilis Duncan played the Witches' Reel 
Upon a jews-harp. 

HATHORNE. 

Then you know full well 
The English law, and that in England Witches, 
When lawfully convicted and attainted, 
Are put to death. 

MATHER. 

When lawfully convicted ; 
That is the point. 

HATHORNE. 

You heard the evidence 
Produced before us yesterday at the trial 
Of Bridget Bishop. 

MATHER. 

One of the Afflicted, 
I know, bore witness to the apparition 
Of ghosts unto the spectre of this Bishop, 
Saying, "You murdered us ! " of the truth whereof 
There was in matter of fact too much suspicion. 

HATHORNE. 

And when she cast her eyes on the Afflicted, 
They were struck down ; and this in such a manner 
There could be no collusion in the business. 
And when the accused but laid her hand upon them, 



142 Giles Corey [Act III. 

As they lay in their swoons, they straight revived, 
Although they stirred not when the others touched 
them. 

MATHER. 

What most convinced me of the woman's guilt 
Was finding hidden in her cellar wall 
Those poppets made of rags, with headless pins 
Stuck into them point outwards, and whereof 
She could not give a reasonable account. 

HATHORNE. 

When you shall read the testimony given 
Before the Court in all the other cases, 
I am persuaded you will find the proof 
No less conclusive than it was in this. 
Come, then, with me, and I will tax your patience 
With reading of the documents so far 
As may convince you that these sorcerers 
Are lawfully convicted and attainted. 
Like doubting Thomas, you shall lay your hand 
Upon these wounds, and you will doubt no more. 

\Exeuiit. 



SCENE III. A room i?i Corey's house. Martha a7id 
two Deacons of the church, 

MARTHA. 

Be seated. I am glad to see you here. 

I know what you are come for. You are come 



Sc. III.] of the Salem Farms. 143 

To question me, and learn from my own lips 
If I have any dealings with the Devil j 
In short, if I 'm a Witch. 

DEACON (sitting down). 

Such is our purpose. 
How could you know beforehand why we came 1 

MARTHA. 

'T was only a surmise. 

DEACON. 

We came to ask you, 
You being with us in church covenant, 
"WTiat part you have, if any, in these matters. 

MARTHA. 

And I make answer. No part whatsoever. 
I am a fanner's wife, a working woman ; 
You see my spinning-wheel, you see my loom. 
You know the duties of a farmer's wife. 
And are not ignorant that my life among you 
Has been without reproach until this day. 
Is it not true } 

DEACON. 

So much we 're bound to own ; 
And say it frankly, and without reserve. 

MARTHA. 

I 've heard the idle tales that are abroad ; 
I 've heard it whispered that I am a Witch ; 
I cannot help it. I do not believe 
In any Witchcraft. It is a delusion. 



144 Giles Corey [AcrllL 

DEACON. 

How can you say that it is a delusioD, 

WTien all our learned and good men believe it ? — 

Our ^linisters and worshipful Magistrates ? 

MARTHA. 

Their eyes are blinded, and see not the truth. 
Perhaps one day they will be open to it 

DEACOX. 

You answer boldly. The ASicted Children 
Say you appeared to them. 

MARTHA. 

And did they say 
WTiat clothes I came in ? 

DEACON. 

No, they could not telL 
They said that you foresaw our visit here. 
And blinded them, so that they could not see 
The clothes you wore. 

MARTHA. 

The cunning, crafty girls ! 
I say to you, in all sincerity, 
I never have appeared to any one 
In my own person. If the Devil takes 
jNIy shape to hurt these children, or afflict them, 
I am not guilty of it And I say 
It 's all a mere delusion of the senses. 



Sc. III.] of the Salem Farms, 145 

DEACON. 

I greatly fear that you will find too late 
It is not so. 

MARTHA {rising). 

They do accuse me falsely. 
It is delusion, or it is deceit. 
There is a story in the ancient Scriptures 
Which much I wonder comes not to your minds. 
Let me repeat it to you. 

DEACON. 

We will hear it. 

MARTHA. 

It came to pass that Naboth had a vineyard 
Hard by the palace of the King called Ahab. 
And Ahab, King of Israel, spake to Naboth, 
And said to him, Give unto me thy vineyard, 
That I may have it for a garden of herbs, 
And I will give a better vineyard for it, 
Or, if it seemeth good to thee, its worth 
In money. And then Naboth said to Ahab, 
The Lord forbid it me that I should give 
The inheritance of my fathers unto thee. 
And Ahab came into his house displeased 
And heavy at the words which Naboth spake, 
And laid him down upon his bed, and turned 
His face away ; and he would eat no bread. 
And Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, came 
And said to him. Why is thy spirit sad ? 

7 J 



146 Giles Corey [Act III. 

And he said unto her, Because I spake 

To Naboth, to the Jezreelite, and said, 

Give me thy vineyard ; and he answered, saying, 

I will not give my vineyard unto thee. 

And Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, said, 

Dost thou not rule the realm of Israel ? 

Arise, eat bread, and let thy heart be merry ; 

I will give Naboth's vineyard unto thee. 

So she wrote letters in King Ahab's name, 

And sealed them with his seal, and sent the letters 

Unto the elders that were in his city 

Dwelling with Naboth, and unto the nobles ; 

And in the letters wrote, Proclaim a fast ; 

And set this Naboth high among the people. 

And set two men, the sons of Belial, 

Before him, to bear witness and to say, 

Thou didst blaspheme against God and the King ; 

And carry him out and stone him, that he die ! 

And the elders and the nobles of the city 

Did even as Jezebel, the wife of Ahab, 

Had sent to them and written in the letters. 

And then it came to pass, when Ahab heard 

Naboth was dead, that Ahab rose to go 

Down unto Naboth's vineyard, and to take 

Possession of it. And the word of God 

Came to Elijah, saying to him. Arise, 

Go down to meet the King of Israel 

In Naboth's vineyard, whither he hath gone 

To take possession. Thou shalt speak to him, 



Sc. IV.] of the Salem Farms. \/!i^'j 

Saying, Thus saith the Lord ! What ! hast thou 

killed 
And also taken possession ? In the place 
Wherein the dogs have licked the blood of Naboth 
Shall the dogs lick thy blood, — ay, even thine ! 

Both of the Deacons start from their seats. 

And Ahab then, the King of Israel, 
Said, Hast thou found me, O mine enemy ? 
Elijah the Prophet answered, I have found thee ! 
So will it be with those who have stirred up 
The Sons of Belial here to bear false witness 
And swear away the lives of innocent people ; 
Their enemy will find them out at last. 
The Prophet's voice will thunder, I have found 
thee! 

\Exeunt. 



SCENE IV. Meadows on Ipswich River, Corey and his 
men mowing ; Corey in advance, 

COREY. 

Well done, my men. You see, I lead the field ! 
I 'm an old man, but I can swing a scythe 
Better than most of you, though you be younger. 

Hangs his scythe upon a tree. 



148 Giles Corey [Act III. 

GLOYD {aside to tJu others). 
How Strong he is ! It 's supernatural. 
No man so old as he is has such strength. 
The Devil helps him ! 

COREY {iviping his forehead). 

Now we '11 rest awliile, 
And take our nooning. What 's the matter with you ? 
You are not angr}^ with me, — are you, Gloyd ? 
Come, come, we will not quarrel. Let 's be friends. 
It *s an old stor}^, that the Raven said, 
"Read the Third of Colossians and fifteenth." 

GLOYD. 

You 're handier at the scythe, but I can beat you 
At wrestling. 

COREY. 

Well, perhaps so. I don't know. 
I never wTesded with you. A\Tiy, you 're vexed ! 
Come, come, don't bear a grudge. 

GLOYD. 

You are afraid. 

COREY. 

"\Miat should I be afraid of ? All bear witness 
The challenge comes from him. Now, then, my man. 

TTiey wrestle^ arid Gloyd is throzun, 
OXE OF THE MEX. 

That 's a fair fall. 

AXOTHER. 

'T was nothing but a foil ! 



Sc. IV.] of the Salem Farms, 149 

OTHERS. 

You 've hurt him ! 

COREY (heipmg Gloyd rise). 

No j this meadow-land is soft. 
You 're not hurt, — are you, Gloyd } 

GLOYD (rising). 

No, not much hurt ! 

COREY. 

Well, then, shake hands ; and there 's an end of it. 
How do you like that Cornish hug, my lad ? 
And now we '11 see what 's in our basket here. 

GLOYD (aside). 

The Devil and all his imps are in that man ! 
The clutch of his ten fingers burns like fire ! 

COREY (revere7ttially taking off his hat)- 
God bless the food he hath provided for us. 
And make us thankful for it, far Christ's sake ! 

He lifts up a keg of cider, and drinks from it, 

GLOYD. 

Do you see that ? Don't tell me it 's not Witchcraft. 
Two of us could not lift that cask as he does ! 

Corey puts down the keg^ and opens a basket. A voice is 
heard calling. 

VOICE. 

Ho ! Corey, Corey ! 



150 Giles Co7'ey [Act III. 

COREY. 

What is that .^ I surely 
Heard some one calling me by name ! 

VOICE. 

Giles Corey ! 
Enter a boy^ run7ii7ig^ and out of breath. 
BOY. 



Is Master Corey h 
Master Corey ! 


ere ? 

COREY. 

Yes, here I 

BOY. 
COREY. 

Well? 


am. 






BOY. 

Your wife - 


— your 


wife — 


AVhat 's happened 


COREY. 

to my wife ? 








BOY. 

She 's ! 


sent to 


prison ! 



COREY. 

The dream ! the dream ! O God, be merciful ! 

BOY. 

She sent me here to tell you. 



Sc. IV.] of the Salem Farms, 1 5 1 

COREY inputting on his jacket). 

Where 's my horse ? 
Don't stand there staring, fellows. Where 's my 
horse ? 

{Exit Corey. 

GLOYD. 

Under the trees there. Run, old man, run, run ! 
You 've got some one to wrestle with you now 
Who '11 trip your heels up, with your Cornish hug. 
If there 's a Devil, he has got you now. 
Ah, there he goes ! His horse is snorting fire ! 

ONE OF THE MEN. 

John Gloyd, don't talk so ! It 's a shame to talk so ! 
He 's a good master, though you quarrel with him. 

GLOYD. 

If hard work and low wages make good masters. 
Then he is one. But I think otherwise. 
Come, let us have our dinner and be merry. 
And talk about the old man and the Witches. 
I know some stories that will make you laugh. 

They sit down on the grass y and eat. 

Now there are Goody Cloyse and Goody Good, 
Who have not got a decent tooth between them. 
And yet these children — the Afflicted Children — 
Say that they bite them, and show marks of teeth 
Upon their arms ! 



15-2 Giles Corey [Act III. 

ONE OF THE MEN. 

That makes the wonder greater. 
That 's Witchcraft. Why, if they had teeth hke 

yours, 
'T would be no wonder if the girls were bitten ! 

GLOYD. 

And then those ghosts that come out of their graves 
And cry, '' You murdered us ! you murdered us ! '' 

OXE OF THE MEN. 

And all those Apparitions that stick pins 
Into the flesh of the Afflicted Children ! 

GLOYD. 

O those Afflicted Children ! They know well 
Where the pins come from. I can tell you that. 
And there 's old Corey, he has got a horseshoe 
Nailed on his doorstep to keep off the Witches, 
And all the same his wife has gone to prison. 

ONE OF THE MEN. 

O, she 's no Witch. I '11 swear that Goodwife Corey 
Never did harm to any living creature. 
She 's a good woman, if there ever was one. 

GLOYD. 

Well, we shall see. As for that Bridget Bishop, 
She has been tried before ; some years ago 
A negro testified he saw her shape 
Sitting upon the rafters in a barn. 



Sc. IV.] of the Salem Farms, 153 

And holding in its hand an egg ; and while 
He went to fetch his pitchfork, she had vanished. 
And now be quiet, will you? I am tired, 
And want to sleep here on the grass a little. 

They stretch themselves on the grass. 

ONE OF THE MEN. 

There may be Witches riding through the air 
Over our heads on broomsticks at this moment, 
Bound for some Satan's Sabbath in the woods 
To be baptized. 

GLOYD. 

I wish they 'd take you with them, 
And hold you under water, head and ears, 
Till you were drowned ; and that would stop your 

talking, 
If nothing else will. Let me sleep, I say. 



END OF ACT III. 



1 54 Giles Corey [Act iv. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. The Green in front of the village Meeting-house. 
An excited crowd gathering. Enter John Gloyd. 

A FARMER. 

Who will be tried to-day ? 

A SECOND. 

I do not know. 
Here is John Gloyd. Ask him ; he knows. 

FARMER. 

John Gloyd, 
Whose turn is it to-day ? 

GLOYD. 

It 's Goodwife Corey's. 

FARMER. 

Giles Corey's wife ? 

GLOYD. 

The same. She is not mine. 
It will go hard with her with all her praying. 
The hypocrite ! She 's always on her knees ; 
But she prays to the Devil when she prays. 
Let us go in. 

A trumpet blows. 

FARMER. 

Here come the Magistrates. 



Sc. I.] of the Salem Farms. 155 

SECOND FARMER. 

Who 's the tall man in front ? 

GLOYD. 

O, that is Hathorne, 
A Justice of the Court, and Quartermaster 
In the Three County Troop. He '11 sift the matter. 
That 's Corwin with him ; and the man in black 
Is Cotton Mather, Minister of Boston. 

Enter Hathorne and other Magistrates on horseback^ followed 
by the Sheriffs constables, and attendants on foot. The 
Magistrates disjnotcntf a7td enter the Meeting-house , with 
the rest. 

FARMER. 

The Meeting-house is full. I never saw 
So great a crowd before. 

GLOYD. 

No matter. Come. 
We shall find room enoiagh by elbowing 
Our way among them. Put your shoulder to it. 

FARMER. 

There were not half so many at the trial 
Of Goodwife Bishop. 

GLOYD. 

Keep close after me. 
I '11 find a place for you. They '11 want me there. 
I am a friend of Corey's, as you know, 
And he can't do without me just at present. 

\Exeunt, 



IS6 Giles Corey [Act IV. 



SCENE II. Interior of the Meeting-house. Mather and 
the Magistrates seated in front of the pulpit. Before the7n 
a raised platform. Martha in chai?ts. Corey near 
her. Mary Walcot in a chair, A crowd of spectators^ 
among them Gloyd. Confusion and murmurs during the 
scene, 

HATHORNE. 

Call Martha Corey. 

MARTHA. 

I am here. 

HATHORNE. 

Come forward. 

She ascends the platform. 

The Jurors of our Sovereign Lord and Lady 
The King and Queen, here present, do accuse you 
Of having on the tenth of June last past, 
And divers other times before and after. 
Wickedly used and practised certain arts 
Called Witchcrafts, Sorceries, and Incantations, 
Against one Mary Walcot, single woman, 
Of Salem Village ; by which wicked arts 
The aforesaid Mary Walcot was tormented, 
Tortured, afflicted, pined, consumed, and wasted. 
Against the peace of our Sovereign Lord and Lady 
The King and Queen, as well as of the Statute 
Made and provided in that case. What say you ? 



Sc. II.] of the Salem Farms, 157 

MARTHA. 

Before I answer, give me leave to pray. 

HATHORNE. 

We have not sent for you, nor are we here, 
To hear you pray, but to examine you 
In whatsoever is alleged against you. 
Why do you hurt this person ? 

MARTHA. 

I do not. 
I am not guilty of the charge against me. 

MARY. 

Avoid, she-devil ! You torment me now ! 
Avoid, avoid, Witch ! 

MARTHA. 

I am innocent: 
I never had to do with any Witchcraft 
Since I was born. I am a gospel woman. 

MARY. 

You are a gospel Witch ! 

MARTHA {clasping her hands). 

Ah me ! ah me ! 
O, give me leave to pray 1 

MARY {stretching out her hands). 

She hurts me now. 
See, she has pinched my hands ! 

HATHORNE. 

Who made these marks 
Upon her hands ? 



IS8 Giles Corey [Act IV. 

MARTHA. 

I do not know. I stand 
Apart from her. I did not touch her hands. 

HATHORNE. 

Who hurt her then ? 

MARTHA. 

I know not. 



HATHORNE. 



She is bewitched ? 



Do you think 



MARTHA. 

Indeed I do not think so. 
I am no Witch, and have no faith in Witches. 

HATHORNE. 

Then answer me : When certain persons came 
To see you yesterday, how did you know 
Beforehand why they came ? 

MARTHA. 

I had had speech, 
The children said I hurt them, and I thought 
These people came to question me about it. 

HATHORNE. 

How did you know the children had been told 
To note the clothes you wore ? 

MARTHA. 

My husband told me 
What others said about it. 



Sell.] of the Salem Farms, 159 

HATHORNE. 

Goodman Corey, 
Say, did you tell her ? 

COREY. 

I must speak the truth ; 
I did not tell her. It was some one else. 

HATHORNE. 

Did you not say your husband told you so ? 

How dare you tell a lie in this assembly } 

Who told you of the clothes ? Confess the truth. 

Martha bites her lips, a^id is silent. 
You bite your lips, but do not answer me ! 

LIARY. 

Ah, she is biting me ! Avoid, avoid ! 

HATHORNE. 

You said your husband told you. 

MARTHA. 

Yes, he told me 
The children said I troubled them. 

HATHORNE. 

Then tell me, 
Why do you trouble them ? 

MARTHA. 

I have denied it. 

MARY. 

She threatened me ; stabbed at me with her spindle j 
And, when my brother thrust her with his sword. 



l6o Giles Co7'cy [Act IV. 

He tore her gown, and cut a piece away. 
Here are they both, the spindle and the cIotL 

Shows them. 

HATHORNE. 

And there are persons here who know the truth 
Of what has now been said. What answer make you? 

MARTHA. 

I make no answer. Give me leave to pray. 

HATHORNE. 

AMiom would you pray to ? 

MARTHA. 

To my God and Father. 

HATHORNE. 

"Who is your God and Father? 

MARTHA. 

The Almighty ! 

HATHORNE. 

Doth he you pray to say that he is God ? 
It is the Prince of Darkness, and not God. 

MARY. 

There is a dark shape whispering in her ear. 

HATHORNE. 

■\Miat does he say to you ? 

MARTHA. 

I see no shape. 



Sc. IL] of the Salem Farms, i6i 

HATHORNE. 

Did you not hear it whisper ? 

MARTHA. 

I heard nothing. 

MARY. 

What torture ! Ah, what agony I suffer ! 
Falls into a swoon, 
HATHORNE. 

You see this woman cannot stand before you. 

If you would look for mercy, you must look 

In God's way, by confession of your guilt. 

Why does your spectre haunt and hurt this person ? 

MARTHA. 

I do not know. He who appeared of old 
In Samuel's shape, a saint and glorified. 
May come in whatsoever shape he chooses. 
I cannot help it. I am sick at heart ! 

COREY. 

Martha, Martha ! let me hold your hand. 

HA.TKORNE. 

No; stand aside, old man. 

MARY ( starting up ) . 

Look there ! Look there ! 

1 see a little bird, a yellow bird. 
Perched on her finger ; and it pecks at me. 
Ah, it will tear mine eyes out ! 

K 



1 62 Giles Corey [Act IV. 

MARTHA. 

I see nothing. 

HATHORXE. 

T is the Familiar Spirit that attends her. 

MARY. 

Now it has flown away. It sits up there 
Upon the rafters. It is gone ; is vanished. 

MARTHA. 

Giles, wipe these tears of anger from mine eyes. 
Wipe the sweat from my forehead. I am faint 

She leans against the railing, 

MARY. 

O, she is crushing me with all her weight ! 

HATHORNE. 

Did you not cany^ once the DeviFs Book 
To this young woman ? 

MARTHA. 

Never. 

HATHORNE. 

Have you signed it, 
Or touched it .'* 

MARTHA- 

No ; I never saw it. 

HATHORNE. 

Did you not scourge her with an iron rod ? 

MARTHA. 

No, I did not. If any Evil Spirit 



Sc. II.] of the Salem Farms, 163 

Has taken my shape to do these evil deeds, 
I cannot help it. I am innocent. 

HATHORNE. 

Did you not say the Magistrates were blind ? 
That you would open their eyes ? 

MARTHA {with a scornful laugh). 

Yes, I said that ; 
If you call me a sorceress, you are blind ! 
If you accuse the innocent, you are blind ! 
Can the innocent be guilty ? 

HATHORNE. 

Did you not 
On one occasion hide your husband's saddle 
To hinder him from coming to the Sessions ? 

MARTHA. 

I thought it was a folly in a farmer 

To waste his time pursuing such illusions. 

HATHORNE. 

What was the bird that this young woman saw 
Just now upon your hand ? 

MARTHA. 

I know no bird. 

HATHORNE. 

Have you not dealt with a Familiar Spirit ? 

MARTHA. 

No, never, never ! 



164 Giles Cony [Act IV. 

HATHORNE. 

What then was the Book 
You showed to this young woman, and besought her 
To WTite in it ? 

MARTHA. 

AAliere should I have a book ? 
I showed her none, nor have none. 

MARY. 

The next Sabbath 
Is the Communion-Day, but Martha Corey 
Will not be there ! 

MARTHA. 

Ah, you are all against me. 

^^'hat can I do or say ? 

HATHORNE. 

You can confess. 

MARTHA. 

No, I cannot, for I am innocent 

HATHORNE. 

We have the proof of many witnesses 
That you are guilt}^ 

MARTHA. 

Give me leave to speaL 
Will vou condemn me on such evidence, — 
You who have known me for so many years t 
Will you condemn me in this house of God, 
Where I so long have worshipped with you all '^, 



Sc. II ] of the Salem Farms, 165 

Where I have eaten the bread and drunk the wine 
So many times at our Lord's Table with you ? 
Bear witness, you that hear me ; you all know 
That I have led a blameless life among you, 
That never any whisper of suspicion 
AVas breathed against me till this accusation. 
And shall this count for nothing ? Will you take 
My life away from me, because this girl, 
Who is distraught, and not in her right mind, 
Accuses me of things I blush to name ? 

HATHORNE. 

What ! is it not enough ? Would you hear more ? 
Giles Corey I 

COREY. 

I am here. 

HATHORNE. 

Come forward, then. 

Corey ascends the platform. 

Is it not true, that on a certain night 
You were impeded strangely in your prayers ? 
That something hindered you ? and that you left 
This woman here, your wife, kneeling alone 
Upon the hearth ? 

COREY. 

Yes ; I cannot deny it. 

HATHORNE. 

Did you not say the Devil hindered you ? 



1 66 Giles Corey [Act IV. 

COREY. 

I think I said some words to that effect. 

HATHORXE. 

Is it not true, that fourteen head of cattle, 
To you belonging, broke from their enclosure 
And leaped into the river, and were drowned t 

COREY. 

It is most true. 

HATHORXE. 

And did you not then say 
That they were overlooked ? 

COREY. 

So much I said. 
I see ; they 're drawing round me closer, closer, 
A net I cannot break, cannot escape from ! [Aside.) 

HATHORXE. 

Who did these things ? 

COREY. 

I do not know w^ho did them. 

HATHORXE. 

Then I will tell you. It is some one near you ; 
You see her now ; this woman, your own wife. 

COREY. 

I call the heavens to witness, it is false ! 
She never harmed me, never hindered me 
In anything but what I should not do. 
And I bear witness in the sight of heaven. 
And in God's house here, that I never knew her 



Sc. IL] of the Salem Farms, 167 

As otherwise than patient, brave, and true, 

Faithful, forgiving, full of charity, 

A virtuous and industrious and good wife ! 

HATHORNE. 

Tut, tut, man ; do not rant so in your speech ; 

You are a witness, not an advocate ! 

Here, Sheriff, take this woman back to prison. 

MARTHA. 

Giles, this day you 've sworn away my life ! 

IMARY. 

Go, go and join the Witches at the door. 
Do you not hear the dmm ? Do you not see them? 
Go quick. They 're waiting for you. You are late. 
[^;c// Martha ; Qo^wi following. 

COREY. 

The dream ! the dream 1 the dream ! 

HATHORNE. 

What does he say ? 
Giles Corey, go not hence. You are yourself 
Accused of Witchcraft and of Sorcery 
By many witnesses. Say, are you guilty ? 

COREY. 

1 know my death is foreordained by you, — 
Mine and my wife's. Therefore I will not answer. 

During the rest of the scene he remains silent. 



1 68 Giles Corey [Act IV. 

HATHORXE. 

Do you refuse to plead ? — 'T were better for you 
To make confession, or to plead Not Guilty. — 
Do you not hear me ? — Answer, are you guilty ? 
Do you not know a heavier doom awaits you, 
If you refuse to plead, than if found guilt)' ? 
Where is John Gloyd ? 

GLO\T) (corni7tgfonvard). 

Here am I. 

HATHORXE. 

Tell the Court; 
Have you not seen the supernatural power 
Of this old man ? Have you not seen him do 
Strange feats of strength ? 

GLOYD. 

I 've seen him lead the field, 
On a hot day, in mowing, and against 
Us younger men ; and I have wrestled with him. 
He threw me like a feather. I have seen him 
Lift up a barrel with his single hands, 
AMiich two strong men could hardly lift together. 
And, holding it above his head, drink from it. 

HATHORXE. 

That is enough ; we need not question further. 
AMiat answer do you make to this, Giles Corey ? 

MARY. 

See there ! See there ! 



Sc. II.] of the Salem Farms, 169 

HATHORNE. 

What is it ? I see nothing. 

MARY. 

Look ! Look ! It is the ghost of Robert Goodell, 
Whom fifteen years ago this man did murder 
By stamping on his body ! In his shroud 
He comes here to bear witness to the crime ! 

The crowd shrinks back from Corey in horron ' 

HATHORNE. 

Ghosts of the dead and voices of the living 
Bear witness to your guilt, and you must die ! 
It might have been an easier death. Your doom 
Will be on your own head, and not on ours. 
Twice more will you be questioned of these things ; 
Twice more have room to plead or to confess. 
If you are contumacious to the Court, 
And if, when questioned, you refuse to answer, 
Then by the Statute you will be condemned 
To the peine forte et dtcre ! To have your body 
Pressed by great weights until you shall be dead ! 
And may the Lord have mercy on your soul ! 



END OF ACT IV. 



8 



I/O Giles Corey [ActV. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. Corey's farm as iyi Ad II. Scene I. E7iter 
Richard Gardner, looking round him, 

GARDNER. 

Here stands the house as I remember it, 
The four tall poplar-trees before the door ; 
The house, the barn, the orchard, and the well, 
With its moss-covered bucket and its trough ; 
The garden, with its hedge of currant-bushes j 
The woods, the harvest-fields \ and, far beyond, 
The pleasant landscape stretching to the sea. 
But everything is silent and deserted ! 
No bleat of flocks, no bellowing of herds, 
No sound of flails, that should be beating now ; 
Nor man nor beast astir. What can this mean .'* 

Knocks at the door, 

AVhat ho ! Giles Corey ! Hillo-ho ! Giles Corey ! — 
No answer but the echo from the barn, 
And the ill-omened cawing of the crow, 
That yonder wings his flight across the fields. 
As if he scented carrion in the air. 

Enter Tituba with a basket. 

What woman 's this, that, like an apparition, 
Haunts this deserted homestead in broad day ? 
Woman, who are you ? 



Sc. I.] of the Salem Farms, 171 

TITUBA. 

I am Tituba. 
I am John Indian's wife. I am a Witch. 

GARDNER. 

What are you doing here ? 

TITUBA. 

I 'm gathering herbs, — 
Cinquefoil, and saxifrage, and pennyroyal. 

GARDNER (lookijig at the herbs). 

This is not cinquefoil, it is deadly nightshade ! 

This is not saxifrage, but hellebore ! 

This is not pennyroyal, it is henbane ! 

Do you come here to poison these good people ? 

TITUBA. 

I get these for the Doctor in the Village. 
Beware of Tituba. I pinch the children ; 
Make little poppets and stick pins in them, 
And then the children cry out they are pricked. 
The Black Dog came to me, and said, "Serve me!'' 
I was afraid. He made me hurt the children. 

GARDNER. 

Poor soul ! She 's crazed, with all these Devil's 
doings. 

TITUBA. 

Will you, sir, sign the Book ? 

GARDNER. 

No, I '11 not sign it. 
Where is Giles Corey ? Do you know Giles Corey ? 



17- Giles Cojry [ActV. 

TITUBA. 

He 's safe enough. He 's down there in the prison. 

GARDNER. 

Corey in prison ? What is he accused of? 

TITUBA. 

Giles Corey and Martha Corey are in prison 
Down there in Salem Village. Both are Witches. 
She came to me and whispered, " Kill the chil- 
dren ! " 
Both si2;ned the Book ! 

GARDNER. 

Begone, you imp of darkness ! 
You Devil's dam ! 

TITUBA. 

Beware of Tituba ! 

[Exit, 
GARDNER. 

How often out at sea on stormy nights. 

When the waves thundered round me, and the wind 

Bellowed, and beat the canvas, and my ship 

Clove through the solid darkness, like a wedge, 

I 've thought of him, upon his pleasant farm, 

Living in quiet with his thrifty housewife. 

And envied him, and wished his fate were mine ! 

A,nd now I find him shipwTecked utterly, 

Drifting upon this sea of sorceries, 

And lost, perhaps, beyond all aid of man ! 

[Exit 



Sc. II.] of the Salem Farms. 1 73 



SCENE 11. The prison. Giles Corey at a table on which 
are so?ne papers, 

COREY. 

Now I have done with earth and all its cares ; 
I give my worldly goods to my dear children ; 
My body I bequeath to my tormentors, 
And my immortal soul to Him who made it. 
O God ! who in thy wisdom dost afflict me 
With an affliction greater than most men 
Have ever yet endured or shall endure, 
Suffer me not in this last bitter hour 
For any pains of death to fall from thee ! 

Martha is heard singing. 

Arise, O righteous Lord ! 

And disappoint my foes ; 
They are but thine avenging sword, 

Whose wounds are swift to close. 

COREY. 
Hark, hark ! it is her voice ! She is not dead ! 
She lives ! I am not utterly forsaken ! 

Martha, singing. 

By thine abounding grace. 

And mercies multiplied, 
I shall awake, and see thy face ; 

I shall be satisfied. 

Corey hides his face in his hands. E^iter the Jailer, fol- 
lowed by Richard Gardner. 



1/4 Giles Corey [AcrV. 

JAILER. 

Here 's a seafaring man, one Richard Gardner, 
A friend of yours, who asks to speak with you. 

Corey rises. They emlrrace. 

COREY. 

I 'm glad to see you, ay, right glad to see you. 

GARDNER- 

And I most sorely grieved to see you thus. 

COREY. 

Of all the friends I had in happier days, 

You are the first, ay, and the only one. 

That comes to seek me out in my disgrace ! 

And you but come in time to say farewell. 

They Ve dug my grave already in the field. 

I thank you. There is something in your presence, 

I know not what it is, that gives me strength. 

Perhaps it is the bearing of a man 

Familiar with all dangers of the deep, 

Familiar with the cries of drowning men, 

With fire, and wreck, and foundering ships at sea ! 

GARDNER. 

Ah, I have never known a wreck like yours ! 
Would I could save you ! 

COREY. 

Do not speak of that. 
It is too late. I am resolved to die. 



Sc. IL] of the Salem Farms, 175 

GARDNER. 

Why would you die who have so much to live 

for? — 
Your daughters, and — 

COREY. 

You cannot say the word. 

My daughters have gone from me. They are mar- 
ried j 

They have their homes, their thoughts, apart from 
me j 

I will not say their hearts, — that were too cruel. 

What would you have me do ? 

GARDNER. 

Confess and live. 

COREY. 

That 's what they said who came here yesterday 
To lay a heavy weight upon my conscience 
By telling me that I was driven forth 
As an unworthy member of their church. 

GARDNER. 

It is an awful death. 

COREY. 

'T is but to drown, 
And have the weight of all the seas upon you. 

GARDNER. 

Say something ; say enough to fend off death 

Till this tornado of fanaticism 

Blows itself out. Let me come in between you 



1 76 Giles Corey [Act V. 

And your severer self, with my plain sense ; 
Do not be obstinate. 

COREY. 

I will not plead. 
If I deny. I am condemned already. 
In courts where ghosts appear as \N'itnesses, 
And swear men's lives away. If I confess, 
Then I confess a Ue, to buy a life 
Which is not life, but only death in life. 
I will not bear false witness against any. 
Not even against myself, whom I count least 

GARDNER {aside). 

Ah, what a noble character is this ! 

COREY. 

I pray you, do not urge me to do that 
You would not do yourself. I have already 
The bitter taste of death upon my lips ; 
I feel the pressure of the hea\y weight 
That will crush out my life \vithin this hour ; 
But if a word could save me, and that word 
^^'ere not the Truth ; nay, if it did but swer\'e 
A hair's-breadth from the Truth, I would not say it! 

GARDNER (aside). 

How mean I seem beside a man hke this ! 

COREY. 

As for my wife, my ^lartha and my Mart}T, — 
AMiose \irtues, like the stars, unseen by day, 
Though numberless, do but await the dark 



Sc. III.] of the Salem Farms, 177 

To manifest themselves unto all eyes, — 
She who first won me from my evil ways, 
And taught me how to live by her example, 
By her example teaches me to die. 
And leads me onward to the better life ! 

SHERIFF (without). 

Giles Corey ! Come ! The hour has struck ! 

COREY. 

I come ! 
Here is my body ; ye may torture it, 

But the immortal soul ye cannot crush ! 

\Exeunt, 



SCENE III. A street in the Village, Enter Gloyd and 

others, 

GLOYD. 

Quick, or we shall be late ! 

A MAN. 

That 's not the way. 
Come here ; come up this lane. 

GLOYD. 

I wonder now 
If the old man will die, and will not speak ? 
He 's obstinate enough and tough enough 
For anything on earth. 

8* L 



178 Giles Corey [ActV. 

A bell tolls. 

Hark! What is that? 

A MAN. 

The passing bell. He 's dead ! 

GLOYD. 

We are too late. 
\Exeunt in haste. 



SCENE IV. A field near the graveyard. Giles Corey 
lying dead^ with a great stone oji his breast. The Sheriff 
at his head, Richard Gardner at his feet. A crowd 
behind. The bell tolling. E7iter Hathorne and 
Mather. 

HATHORNE. 

This is the Potter's Field. Behold the fate 
Of those who deal in Witchcrafts, and, when ques- 
tioned. 
Refuse to plead their guilt or innocence, 
And stubbornly drag death upon themselves. 

MATHER. 

O sight most horrible ! In a land like this, 

Spangled with Churches Evangelical, 

In wrapped in our salvations, must we seek 

In mouldering statute-books of English Courts 



Sc. IV.] of the Salem Farms, i vg 

Some old forgotten Law, to do such deeds ? 

Those who lie buried in the Potter's Field 

Will rise again, as surely as ourselves 

That sleep in honored graves with epitaphs ; 

And this poor man, whom we have made a victim, 

Hereafter will be counted as a martyr ! 



THE END. 



Cambridge : Printed by Welch, Bigelow, and Company. 




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